


The Lost Princess

by silverneko9lives0



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragons, Drama & Romance, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Gandalf Meddles, Kings & Queens, Legends, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Masturbation, Matchmaker Gandalf, Mother-Son Relationship, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Princes & Princesses, Psychological Trauma, Quests, Rating May Change, Sex, Shipper Gandalf, Stockholm Syndrome, Trauma, myths
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2019-09-27 11:31:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17161199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverneko9lives0/pseuds/silverneko9lives0
Summary: When Erebor fell, Smaug took not only the gold but also their princess - the first woman born to the line of Durin in generations. At this time, she is a girl. A child. Now, years later, Thrain, son of Thror, and his sons Thorin and Frerin, are on their way to reclaim Erebor and find out what became of Dis. Along with them come two hobbits looking to get away from the mundane of the Shire if only for a little while.





	1. Prologue and Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fuckery of timelines...sorry not sorry.

Prologue

~Erebor, Third Age 2770~

Thrain pulled the boys out just before the gates crumbled, trapping hundreds of his people still inside.

“Are you all right?” he demanded of the boys.

His eldest nodded, ashen-faced and shaking even as he tried to calm his brother. Thrain looked around. Finding his father, he shouted at him.

Thror approached, beard scorched, and crown fallen, lost in the mountain with all their wealth.

“Did you not have Dis?” he asked Thror. He was met with horrified silence.

“I thought you had her.”

“I got the boys,” Thrain said. His frayed nerves were turning to ice. He rounded on the boys. “FIND YOUR SISTER!” he shouted.

Both disappeared in to the crowd, shouting her name. Thror set the remaining guards to search for the princess as well.

They searched till nightfall when at last hope was lost. There was only one place the princess could be if she had not gotten out.

And like the others, it was not likely that she would live. Not as young as she was. Thrain tore at the rations he’d been given, appetite long gone.

Thror sat beside him after seeing to his grandsons.

“You are planning on entering the mountain,” he stated. Thrain exhaled, bowing his head. “Thrain, I am sorry, but Dis is gone.”

“She is a daughter of Durin,” Thrain said. “She must be alive.”

“Where she much older, I would agree that she could still be alive. As it is, a ten-year-old Dwarrowling could not survive what happened. We lost seasoned warriors today, Thrain. I’m afraid there’s no possible way that Dis survived.”

Thrain stood and left the camp to check on the boys.

“We’re going to get Dis back, right?” Thorin asked, hugging Frerin close. “Right, Adad?”

He wanted to tell him that they would rescue her, but he couldn’t dash their hopes with the truth, no matter how much he wanted to believe they would, too.

He didn’t want to see the truth in Thror’s words.

It was cold and cruel.

And yet Thror was right. Dis couldn’t have survived. If she did, who knew how long it would be until Smaug found her or starvation claimed her.

“Adad?” Frerin asked.

“Go to sleep, lads,” he told them.

 _Mahal,_ he thought as he tucked the boys in. _Please protect my daughter and give me the strength to avenge her._

#

Deep in the mountain, the hearth fires died…

The forges cooled and grew cold…

No hammer rung…

No anvil sang…

Those who failed to escape, huddled together, wondering when the dragon would find them and eat them…

The dragon curled around his most precious trinket…

Deep in the Mountain, a little girl slept soundly on top a bed of gold, surrounded by the heat of a dragon…

Chapter 1

~Bree, Third Age 2825~

“Rubbish!” A man declared, leaning back in his seat.

“It’s not!” Another declared. “The Men of Laketown swear on it. A princess of Erebor lives! If you’re close enough to the mountain, you can hear her singing to the dragon.”

“Get your head out of the clouds,” said the first, scoffing. “Any Dwarf that remains in the Lonely Mountain is long dead, even if it is a Dwarf Princess.”

“Ah, but what if its true?” A third said. “A Dwarf Woman would be a sight to see. Let alone a princess.”

Thrain bit back any thought of telling the Men off. It was better if they never knew they were in earshot of the father of said princess. Still, the idea of her being alive after so long…

 _Best not to entertain the thought_ , he decided forlornly, lifting the mug of beer to his lips.

“Might I join you?”

Thrain glanced at the man and sat a little straighter.

“Gandalf,” he greeted. “If you wish to urge me to march on Erebor…”

“Your daughter is alive,” Gandalf stated.

Thrain glared at him.

“In your heart, you know this to be true. You know she is alive. She is the first woman born of Durin’s line. And a dragon, no matter how vile, would risk murdering a princess of such rarity.”

“You’re talking of legends and myths, Wizard,” Thrain snarled. “My daughter is dead.”

“Thrain, you asked me once if there was any chance that Dis could be alive. I promised to find out whatever I could. I tell you now, from what I have learned of Dragons, the only thing they value more than gold is a royal maiden. Purer and stronger the line, the better. More so the rarer. Dwarf princesses are the rarest of maidens born of royal blood.”

“Gandalf, she was ten when the dragon came. Still a babe.”

“When did marriage arrangements for Dis begin?”

Thrain sighed. “As soon as she was born, my father began looking for suitable husbands for her. She would not have wed till she was of age, but the hunt began immediately.”

“Exactly. By the time she was ten, all Rhrovanion would have heard tell of her, and the news of a female descendant of Durin the Deathless would still be spreading from there to Eriador, North to Forodwaith and south to Rhûn. The dragons would have learned of her existence and would have begun plotting to take over the mountain eventually even without your father’s treasure.”

“And if you’re wrong?” Thrain asked. “You would have my hope dashed again? It took me years to accept my child’s fate.”

Gandalf leaned forward.

“If I am wrong, then this is your chance to avenge her and the countless lives lost because Smaug took your home. In the process, you get your home back. But if I am right, would you still sit here, getting drunk? Or would you muster an army to save your daughter?”

Thrain contemplated Gandalf’s words.

“If Dis is alive,” he said. “I would go and get my daughter alone if no one joined me.”

“Well, gladly you wouldn’t have to go alone. Your sons would join you. At least they’ve not given up hope.”

Thrain scoffed. “You hear them?” he jerked his head over to the men who he had overheard earlier. “My sons believe that drivel. They are young. Frerin just reached his majority. They can hold onto foolish thoughts and notions of their sister being alive. I don’t have that luxury.”

Gandalf sighed. “I admit, I do not know your pain. I have no child. Even so, I have seen many parents lose a child. I would not wish that pain on anyone. I know what I’ve discovered about Dragons and I am convinced that Dis is alive. I cannot say that these men know what they are talking about. But even if I am wrong, I think that you must go back to Erebor take the Mountain back. If not for your daughter, for your people.”

He reached into his pocket and produced a folded scrap of leather and key, sliding them to Thrain.

“Ultimately it is your choice, Thrain, but I hope you’ll decide to go.” Gandalf stood. “When you’ve decided, I will be at Bag End in Hobbiton, in the Shire.”

He left.

Thrain stared at the leather and key for a moment before picking up the leather and unfolding it to reveal a map of Rhovanion. Surrounding Erebor was a red dragon. His teeth gnashed as he grew furious.

Vengeance for his daughter…

To take the dragon’s head and mount it in Erebor’s halls.

A testament that Durin’s Folk never forgive nor forget.

Thrain left some coin for the barmaid and tucked the map and key in his pocket before leaving the Prancing Pony for home.

Frerin and Thorin were playing cards at the table with Balin and Dwalin. He watched all four of them for a moment, wondering what he’d tell them.

How could he tell them anything?

They were still boys!

All of them!

Being of age did not make one an adult.

Still, if they learned of his plans, they’d want to come. They’d follow him if they could.

“Father?”

Thrain glanced at the boys again. All four were staring at him expectantly as if they could sense his conflicted thoughts.

“What is it?” Frerin pressed.

Thrain inhaled. They’d get it out of him eventually.

“I decided to take the Mountain back,” he started. “And avenge your sister, if I can.”

The four of them stared at him. Dwalin stood.

“I pledge you my axe, my king.”

“And my sword,” Balin added.

“Lads, I am honored, but –”

“You cannot make us stay home,” Thorin shouted, jumping to his feet as well. “Father, please, do not leave us behind.”

“We’re of age,” Frerin added. “And Dis is our sister. We failed to protect her.”

Thrain’s heart broke.

“No, Frerin. Both of you were children at that time as well. What became of your sister is not your fault.”

“Even so,” Thorin said. “We have as much right to avenge her as much as you do, Father.”

 _Stubborn and foolish!_ Thrain thought. He sighed.

“You will not be swayed, I suppose.”

All four of them shook their head.

“Send word to Fundin, then. And to Gróin.”

Thorin nearly tripped over the chair to get parchment for the missive. Thrain went to his room and began to pack. Who knew how long Gandalf would wait for him in the Shire.

And what business did the Wizard have in the Shire at all?

#

Belladonna snatched the pipe from Bilbo’s hands. “Not in my house, Bilbo Baggins!”

“Mum, please!” Bilbo snapped back. Belladonna arched a brow. Bilbo sighed. “Fine. I’ll go outside and smoke. Better?”

“I would rather you’d quit,” she snapped. “It’s not good for your lungs.”

Bilbo took the pipe back and exited the house. She’d been worse than usual since he took up the habit. She was convinced that Longbottom leaf was what led to his father’s death.

Except hundreds, even thousands of Hobbits smoke pipe long into their old age, even going as far as claiming that it extended their life.

To Mordor! Gandalf smoked!

The likelihood that Longbottom Leaf had anything to do with Bungo Baggins’ death seemed ludicrous. Whatever had overcome his father had nothing to do with smoking. Granted, he did agree that it wouldn’t have helped when his father started coughing up blood…

That wasn’t his fate, though.

Bilbo was certain of it.

He shivered, cursing his mother’s irrationality.

“And what brings a young Hobbit outside on a chilly day for a smoke?”

He glared at the wizard and lowered his pipe.

“Mad women,” he replied. “My mother won’t let me smoke in the house. I’m sure this is her way of trying to get me to quit.”

“Ah. Hard habits don’t die easily,” Gandalf said, joining him on the bench. “Granted, if Madam Baggins is in such a state, I’ll likely need a smoke myself before seeing her.”

Bilbo snorted and handed him his leaf pouch. Gandalf thanked him and filled his own pipe.

“What brings you here, Gandalf?” he asked. “The last we saw you, you helped my father cross over.” Gandalf exhaled, buying time.

“I wanted to check in on your mother, Bilbo. And I may have a proposition for her.”

Bilbo scowled. “Bloody Mordor, I don’t need to hear that!”

“Not that kind of proposition, you fool of a Took,” Gandalf snapped, smacking the back of Bilbo’s head.

“Technically I’m half Took. Ergo, I’m not as foolish as you think.”

“You’re plenty foolish, Bilbo Baggins, even if you had no Took blood. As it stands, I’ve an adventure in the makes. It may be exactly what Belladonna needs. And you might need it as well. It’d be good for both of you and very amusing for me.”

“I don’t recall agreeing to any adventures. And what makes you think my mother would dare go on one? She’s been half-depressed since my father died.”

“Exactly! An adventure is exactly what would get her out of her slump. Even if it’s just a short trip to Rivendell.” Bilbo hummed. He had always wanted to see Rivendell…

“Or perhaps a further venture past the Misty Mountains.”

Bilbo winced. “I think not,” he said. “Too far in any direction and the risks get greater. While I agree she could use time away from the Shire, I think Rivendell would be far enough for her to heal. Any farther and I fear what could happen.”

Gandalf blew a smoke thrush. It flapped its wings and soared into the grey sky before vanishing. “Nothing is concrete at this time,” he reassured Bilbo. “Whether or not I advise a holiday farther East depends on the decisions of another.”

“Another?” Bilbo pressed. “Who?”

“Another friend, if you must know,” Gandalf answered. “Who has also had tragedy befall his family.”

“If you’re playing matchmaker, I’ll be quite cross,” Bilbo snapped.

Gandalf barked a laugh. “Matchmaker? Interesting notion! No. Not for Belladonna, but my friend’s eldest…yes. I think that would be a suitable match for _you_.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes.

“No? Bilbo, if you think your proclivities for the male sex had gone unnoticed, you’re sadly mistaken. I think you and this youth I’ve in mind would suit each other greatly. You’re both stubborn as mules, loyal to a fault, and value your family.”

“Still, I think I’ll chose my partner for myself, thank you very much,” he said with finality, inhaling and blowing a smoke ring. “Gandalf, was it really Longbottom leaf that made my dad sick?”

Gandalf’s gaze softened.

“I do not believe so, but I also think it did not help. He had an illness of the lungs, but what precisely, I could not say. Not without having permission to examine the body more closely.”

Which he did not.

“Your fate is not his. If anything, being exposed to the leaf from your father’s habit and love for the leaf made you more likely to smoke anyway.”

Bilbo thought so. He exhaled, not bothering to make a ring. “If you insist on sending her on an adventure, you know I’ll have to come along.”

“I do. In fact, I had every intention of getting you to come along.”

“Someone needs to stay and look after things here.”

“You’ve plenty of relatives who can manage Bag End and your tenants in your absence.”

“True, but let’s see if Mum is able to go, first,” Bilbo decided. He examined his pipe and tapped the ashes out onto the ground. “Gandalf, if she refuses…”

“I have every confidence that your mother will accept any offer to get out of the Shire for a while. There are too many bitter memories haunting her here. I do not expect an immediate answer and there is time.” Gandalf’s pipe glowed red as he took another drag.

Bilbo pocked his own pipe and leaf. “I’ll let her know you’re here and put on some tea.”

“Wonderful,” Gandalf said. “I’ll be inside once I’ve finished,” he lifted his pipe.

Bilbo entered the gate and double backed, checking the mailbox.

“I’ll leave the door unlocked. Just come on in.”

Gandalf waved with his pipe again as Bilbo entered the house and went to alert his mother to Gandalf’s presence. She seemed to perk up a little at that, until told he was finishing a pipe of his own outside.

“I’ll just put the kettle on and call it good,” he decided, leaving the parlor for the kitchen. He built the fire back up and checked the kettle before heading to the pantry to grab the tea tin.

Adventures.

Well, his mother might need that, but he was Master of Bag End now and Patriarch of the Baggins family. First son of the first son and all that blasted nonsense.

Still, he knew if his mother did accept the idea of an adventure and decided to go, he couldn’t let her go alone…well, she wouldn’t be alone as long as Gandalf was there with her.

Maybe he didn’t have to go. Someone had to stay, and his mother wasn’t herself. She’d need this. That much Bilbo was certain. Plus, her going to Rivendell would give him some much-needed time away from her. Breathing room, so to speak.

He gathered three tea cups and saucers before looking in the pantry again to see if there was any food that could be offered.

He found some crackers and salted meat. It would do, though cake would be more appropriate. Adding some cheese to the fare, Bilbo returned to the kitchen, hearing Gandalf and Belladonna talking in the parlor. He poured the hot water into a tea pot and returned it to the hearth before cutting the cheese and meat into small pieces before laying everything on plates on a large tray.

He brought it into the parlor, laying it down as Gandalf said: “…daughter imprisoned.” Bilbo sat between them. “And time is of the essence if he is to get her back.”

“Does he believe she is alive?”

“After over fifty years? No. Even when I told him that Smaug would not dare harm her, he doubts. For good reason, of course. I cannot fault him for doubting after all this time. Likely, Thrain does not want to get his hopes up.”

Belladonna prepared a cup and said:

“I can’t blame him. You may be sending the poor man on a suicide mission, Gandalf, and even if he does survive, what if you’re wrong and the poor girl died the day the dragon came? Have you thought of that? What if you get his hopes up only to have them dashed again when he finds the girl’s corpse among the gold?”

“The daughter of Thrain is the first woman born of his family line,” Gandalf said. “Given how dragons value royal maidens as dearly as they would gold, I am certain she lives.”

“Have you set your eyes on her?” Belladonna asked. “Have you actually seen the girl? No? Then you are certain of nothing and you are up to your old manipulations.”

She took a sip as Bilbo and Gandalf stared at her – one with shock, the other with indignation. She lowered the cup.

“What is your real reason for sending a king of Durin’s Folk back to the Lonely Mountain?”

Gandalf sighed. “Erebor is a great fortress and stronghold,” he said. “If it is held again by the descendants of Durin and Durin’s Folk, we will reclaim one of our best defenses in the East.”

“And that is if you manage to get rid of the Dragon,” Belladonna added. “How exactly do you plan to do that? Dragons are nigh unbeatable, Gandalf. Only certain weapons will succeed, no matter how great the army.”

“Black iron and dragon steel,” Gandalf said. “I know this.”

“Do you have either? Or know where to get them?”

“I do, Bella,” he said. “We need you and Bilbo both for this venture. Smaug knows nothing of Hobbits and your scents will confuse him, allowing one of you to sneak into the mountain and reclaim the Dwarves’ sacred jewel. With it, Thrain will be able to muster all of Dwarf-kind to defeat Smaug and take back Erebor. Belladonna, you are a daughter of a Thain, and as such you are equal to Thrain. I am more than aware that there are differences between a Thain and a King, but there is enough similarity that Thrain will respect you as his equal. Perhaps value your expertise as an adventuress.”

Belladonna took another sip of tea. “I’ve not been an adventuress in some time, Gandalf.”

“Even if Thrain refuses to go, getting out of the Shire will do you good, Bella.”

“I agree, but not East,” she said. “I will not go East.”

Gandalf sighed and began fixing his own cup of tea.

“Bella, I am sorry that the Fell Winter left you too traumatized to return to Rivendell,” he said. “But there has not been a winter that horrible since. Nor are you the only one to have seen such evil before. Millions, perhaps billions, have seen what evil Orcs can produce. As much as I wish it, it is not avoidable. You cannot keep trying to run away from your fear and nightmares. You need to face them in order to overcome them.”

Bilbo cleared his throat.

“Mum, I think you should go. I’ll go with you, then come home after you get there safely so that Bag End will be looked after. You always said that the Elves of Rivendell were healers. They might be able to help you with your pain. Not just from the Fell Winter but also with what happened to Dad.”

Belladonna hummed around her tea cup.

“Gandalf, you travel a lot, right?” Bilbo asked. “How often do Orcs leave their hovels?”

“Rarely if they can help it. Only their hunters and warriors dare it.”

“Then what is the likelihood that we’d actually run into them on the road East?”

“Slim to none.”

“See, Mum? It’ll be perfectly safe.”

Belladonna set the tea cup on the table.

“I will consider it,” she said. “But I promise nothing.”

She left the room, listening to Gandalf mutter about stubbornness.

As if he had any right to call her stubborn!

Belladonna entered her room and stared at her glory box set at the base of the bed. Swallowing, she opened it and removed the bow and empty quiver.

Beneath it were travel worn boiled leather clothes-trousers, jerkin and cloak. She doubted they’d fit her now. She’d not worn them since before she was pregnant.

Tucked in was a song she had written while in Rivendell as a girl the first time. She could vaguely remember the melody.

 _How young I was and how carefree_ , she thought, reading the song.

Not so anymore.

She set it down and looked at the etching on her bow. It was useless. Old and brittle now. Even if she had arrows to string it, it would break.

Three pounding raps announced yet another guest.

Belladonna exited the room to see who had come, hoping it was not Camelia.

It was not.

The Dwarf that entered was stocky of build and his ebony beard greying. He bore an axe strapped to his back and a sword at his belt. He bowed, not breaking eye contact with Bilbo.

“Thrain at your service,” he greeted.

Bilbo stepped aside.

“Come in, Sir,” he said, voice filled with wonder.

Belladonna couldn’t blame him for being in awe. This was the first king Bilbo ever encountered. Behind Thrain were two Dwarves obviously young – perhaps of a maturity with Bilbo – who also introduced themselves in a quieter tone than the elder.

Thrain met Belladonna’s stare with one of his own.

“Ah! Thrain! Glad to see you have come!” Gandalf said. “Might I introduce the Mistress of the home, Madam Belladonna Baggins, daughter of Thain Gerontius Took.”


	2. Chapter 2

While the Dwarf King and the Baggins Matriarch talked with Gandalf in the Parlor, Bilbo had begun preparing dinner. The two Dwarf princes were at the table. One was polishing his weapons while the other kept staring at him. Bilbo wished they’d stop. The weapons were making him nervous and the staring was just as nerve wrecking.

Still, he wasn’t going to tell them off for making him uncomfortable, but at this rate he’d likely need another smoke and it’d begun to rain outside.

Bilbo approached them with six dinner plates. The brother that had been staring at him kicked the one who was polishing his weapons.

“What?”

“Move them so he can set the table, you fool.”

He rolled his eyes but obeyed, sheathing the weapons.

“Thanks,” Bilbo said. The elder brother nodded, cheeks tinged as he procured a pipe of his own. “Be warned: my mother is against smoking.”

“To Mordor I’m taking this outside.”

“I didn’t say you must!” Bilbo said, startled. “Just be aware that she’ll likely twist your ear.”

“I think I can handle your mother just fine.”

Bilbo scoffed. The Dwarf knew not what he spoke. “You’re funeral if she catches you.” The Dwarf shrugged and filled the bowl with leaf before lighting it and taking a deep drag as Bilbo continued to set the table.

“Maybe I can help?” the younger brother requested. “Only I feel a little off not doing something.”

Bilbo glanced in the direction of the parlor. “If you could get some glasses, that would be kind.” He pointed at the cabinet where they kept their cups. “Then I think we’ll likely all need a drink, so you can also help me get the beer cask from the cellar.”

“Gladly.”

The prince carried six glasses to the table, then gathered six mugs before following Bilbo into the cellar.

“I’m Frerin son of Thrain, by the way. The freeloader’s my elder brother, Thorin Oakenshield.”

“Oakenshield? Wouldn’t that also be your name and your father’s?”

“What? No! It’s a byname, not a surname. He won the name for prowess in battle. I guess if our people were to have surnames, ours would be Durin or Durinson.”

Bilbo tapped the barrel he had in mind and Frerin helped him lift it. “Does it not get confusing? Not having a surname?”

“No, not really. Usually we will name our father and his father, and everyone usually knows who we are. For instance, I am officially Frerin son of Thrain son of Thror. And my father would introduce himself as Thrain son of Thror son of Dain.” Bilbo walked up the stairs backwards.

“Interesting, so in your culture, I would introduce myself as Bilbo son of Bungo son of Mungo.”

“Right,” Frerin said. Bilbo bumped into the door and kicked it back open with his foot. At least it didn’t latch on them. Thorin was still at the table, smoking calmly as they set the cask down.

“Excellent!” he said, smirking. “Good work, brother. You’ll be domesticated in no time.”

“Shove off, Thorin,” Frerin snapped, rolling his shoulder. Bilbo went to check on the food as Frerin returned to his seat. Deeming it done, he grabbed the oven mitts and retrieved the food. He set it on the counter before heading to get his mother and their other guests.

“You can’t be serious, Gandalf!” Belladonna shouted, jumping to her feet. “You’ve truly gone mad now! I am not going East! I can’t!” She was shaking. From fear or fury, Bilbo didn’t know, but he ran over to steady her regardless.

“Mum, how about you take a break and have something to eat,” he said as soothingly as he could. “Dinner’s ready and you’ve been in a state since tea.”

“My lady, I’ve no intent to force you to go where you do not wish to,” Thrain added. “The wild is no place for a woman.”

Belladonna nearly snapped her neck turning to face Thrain and Bilbo could feel her animosity.

“And the journey will be dangerous regardless.”

“You think that because I am a woman, I am weak?” She snarled, pushing Bilbo off. “I have travelled Arnor thrice over as a girl before I began to _bleed_. I have studied horsemanship and archery under the Rangers of the North. I’ve sailed the rivers of this land before reaching my majority. I have danced, dined, and sung with the Elves of Mithlond, Forlond, Harlond, and Rivendell. I had marveled at the beauty of the Blue Mountains, been courted by all manner of man and woman both. I hunted in the Old Forest and Eryn Vorn. Even after I had wed, I ventured out of the Shire with my husband and later my own son. I am _not_ weak, even if I am a woman.”

Thrain gaped, clearly stunned. Gandalf hid his laughter as coughs. Bilbo swallowed nervously.

 _Well, I think she’ll be going now just to stick it to this Thrain person_ , he thought.

She turned around and strode out of the parlor.

“Your mother’s quite the woman,” Thrain said.

“You say so now,” Gandalf said. “She was not lying. Half of those adventures were with her brothers and myself. The other half with her late husband.”

Bilbo glared at Gandalf as Thrain stood.

“I will apologize to her. I meant no insult, after all.” Thrain left and once alone with Gandalf, Bilbo rounded on him.

“You said you weren’t going to play matchmaker.”

“Not for her, but for you. Though, granted, I might have to now. She’s not been that plucky since your father died. And Thrain is widowed as well, so I see no problem pushing them…”

“Absolutely not!” Bilbo snapped. “Even if my mother is ready for another relationship, I don’t think a dwarf would be a good idea.”

Gandalf arched a brow at him. “Bilbo, would you deny your mother a new love?”

“No! But if I recall, every time you meddle in love affairs, things get hairy and eventually explode.”

“Hardly my fault that my matches have been a little more…”

Gandalf furrowed his brow, thinking.

“Eccentric?” Bilbo asked. “Tragic?”

“Epic.”

“I would not say that.”

“I think Beren and Luthien would disagree. Granted, I’ve yet to find a pair that matched them yet. Elrond and Celebrian were the closest…”

“You didn’t match Beren and Luthien!” Bilbo snapped. “You weren’t even there!”

“You’d be surprised how many love-matches I’ve made over my years that I never got credit for.”

#

Thrain found Belladonna in a large room. Even where he stood, he could sense death and despair within. It wasn’t a good room. Too many memories and too much sorrow.

He rapped his knuckles against the wood. Belladonna turned to him, frowning. She radiated malice and Thrain sensed a challenge he deigned wiser to refuse.

“Madam Baggins, I would like to apologize. I did not intend insult you, nor imply weakness. I doubt any could look on you and think you weak.”

Her gaze softened a touch. “Thank you, Thrain. Apology accepted. Now if I’m going to prove my point further, I need to pack.”

“We aren’t leaving for another month at least,” he said. “A quest such as this must be carefully planned. Especially if the dragon still lives.”

“Oh? How many scenarios have you planned to prepare for?”

“Weather changes.”

“Naturally,” Belladonna agreed.

“Bandits, orcs, wargs…”

“Trolls?”

“They never venture from the mountains.”

“We’ll be going into the mountains. I’d rather be prepared for anything and everything if at all possible. What if we lose our food and supplies? Do your men know what to look for? What is edible? What is poisonous? Have you enough coin for when we venture into towns? For paying tolls and ferries?”

“My lady, I will not deny this quest is spur of the moment, but I promise my lads and I are as prepared as we can hope to be.”

“Be more prepared. One month is not going to do it. I’d still be unsure at six.”

“Gandalf…”

“Yes. He is convinced your daughter is alive. He would urge unnecessary haste, wouldn’t he? Are you aware that he is manipulating you?”

Thrain inhaled. “I’m not surprised.”

“And you, a king, allow it?”

“I don’t have a choice. Regardless what Gandalf wants, Erebor is my home. And my daughter is still there, dead or not. I have to know what happened to her. What would you do if our places were switched? Would you abandon avenging your child?”

Belladonna stared at him for a moment. “I would not. Bilbo is my only child. You have three children and you still left one of them in your mountain. I would have done all I could to find a way in.”

“It was not that simple.”

“Yes, it was. You left her there to die.”

Thrain sighed. “Yes, I did abandon my daughter to the dragon’s mercy. My father convinced me that she was dead. Gandalf believes she could be alive even after all this time.”

“And what do you believe?” she challenged. “Is she alive?”

Thrain met her unblinking gaze. “It doesn’t matter if she is or not. The dragon must die.”

#

“Thank Mahal we left the others in Bree,” Thorin whispered to Frerin as they helped with the dishes. “Who knows what madness they’d get into.”

“Maybe sing _Man in the Moon_ or _What Dear Old Grand-Mum Hates_ ,” Frerin said, smirking. Thorin rolled his eyes. “What? You know Bofur would do it, too.”

“I know. That’s why Father’s half against bringing him along.”

“And insult Bifur? I think not. They’re too close and Bofur will behave. Mostly.”

“I’m not sure he knows how to, Frerin,” Thorin admitted. “Remember the last time Bofur, Bombur, and Bifur visited? Bofur got bored. And when Bofur gets bored, bad things happen. Father is still incensed from when he jumped on the table at Aunt Riika’s dinner party, danced a jig, and sang one of the bawdiest songs he knew.”

Frerin snorted. “You enjoyed it.”

“Yes, but that’s not the point. Father was furious, as was Dori and Bifur, and Riika was humiliated! Sure, Nori was entertained, but Nori was thirty-three. You could make him laugh just by saying ‘penis.’”

“We all used to be obnoxious brats.”

“Not me.”

“Nor Dori,” Frerin said, setting a plate on the drying rack. “But the two of you seem to be the exception. You’re both too serious.”

Thorin shrugged. After the Sacking of Erebor, he had to grow up so to help Thror and Thrain, even if most of what he did in the beginning was more women’s work. Someone needed to keep an eye on Frerin while their father and grandfather toiled at the forges that hired them.

Thorin had thought that Thror would be humiliated at first having to toil for coin, but the old king managed well enough after the blow of losing their home faded. He had told them tales of how he survived before reclaiming Erebor in his youth.

“Not the first time I was a commoner,” he told the two of them. “And we will get a home again. I swear it.”

Except Thror did not bring them to a new settlement. He tried to take back Moria and was murdered. That murder brought Thrain his kingship and he sought vengeance for his father’s death. Every Dwarf old enough to hold a sword was summoned to fight and avenge Thror.  

Thorin and Frerin also joined the war, despite Thrain’s insistence otherwise. There would be too many young children fighting anyway.

 _What fools we were_ , he thought.

And they were. They were blinded by tales of honor and glory. There was nothing glorious about what he witnessed at the Dimrill Dale. Frerin and father both almost died there. Thorin as well, if not for the broken oak branch that saved his life when the Pale Orc tried to cleave him in half.

He survived, slicing Azog’s arm off instead, no older than fifty-three years of age.  Mahal! Frerin was forty-two when they joined battle against the Orcs for the first time!

_We can fight! What good would it be if our age mates fight but not us!_

“You’ve gone dour,” Frerin said, nudging him.

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

“How stupid we were. Perhaps we still are.”

Frerin hummed. “We’re older now, and a little smarter, even if Father doesn’t always agree. Now stop brooding, Thorin. You’re depressing the whole house.”

#

Bilbo wondered what the brothers were saying. The language they spoke was one he’d never heard before. It wasn’t Elfish. A Dwarfish dialect, then?

It wasn’t as flowing and fair as Sindarin or Quenya, but his interest had peaked. It was deep and guttural.

“What language is that?” he asked.

The brothers turned to him, then looked at each other.

“We can’t tell you,” Thorin said as Frerin responded:

“Khuzdul.” Thorin glowered at Frerin, who seemed taken aback by the elder’s animosity. “What? It’s not like he’ll learn it from one conversation.”

“Still, Frerin. You couldn’t have said, ‘our language,’ instead?”

Frerin ignored him. “Have Hobbits their own language?”

“No, not really. Common Westron is good enough for us. Though I do know Sindarin and Quenya.” Frerin grinned.

“Uhunc ylf ernedui,”* he said, nodding at Thorin. Bilbo snorted.

“Iston,”* he replied.

Thorin glared at them. “Pedin Edhellin, Pe-channas.”*

Bilbo arched a brow and said: “Ma istal quet’Eldarin?”*

Thorin shifted his gaze to Bilbo. “Né.”* He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “I am Crown Prince of Durin’s Folk. I _have_ to know these languages whether I want to or not.”

“He hates Elves,” Frerin said.

“Really?”

“They abandoned us in our time of need,” Thorin snapped. “Father and Grandfather both agreed that they did.”

“Technically it was just Thranduil who abandoned us,” Frerin said. “Not all the Elves are bad. Some are rather kind. And Thranduil has a good reason.”

“How do you know?” Thorin snapped.

“Because I went to him not long after the dragon came,” Frerin snapped back. Thorin stared at him, stunned. “There was nothing he could do to help fight the dragon, but he was willing to offer us shelter for a time if only Grandfather wasn’t so stubborn!”

“You were nineteen. What were you thinking going off on your own?!”

“I wasn’t? I wanted answers and I wanted them to help us get Dis back. I still want that, but…” he sighed. “I don’t know what else to say to you, Thorin. I don’t share your hate for them. At this point, you’re just xenophobic.”

Bilbo looked from brother to brother, unsure how to translate the tension. Likely it was an ancient argument they had. Bilbo cleared his throat. “Erm…perhaps we can get off the Elf subject, then? How about I make supper and we can talk about our cultures – what we can reveal, that is. I wouldn’t want to compromise any of your people’s secrets.”

“More food?” Thorin asked. Frerin looked around.

“Didn’t we just eat.”

“No. Dinner was a couple hours ago. Supper usually in about an hour.”

The brothers stared at him. “How much do you eat?”

“Well,” Bilbo scratched his chin. “There’s breakfast, second breakfast, elevensies, luncheon, tea, dinner, and lastly supper.”

Frerin ticked them off on his hand. “Seven meals?”

“How are you not all fat?”

“It’s a wealth thing,” Bilbo said. “The more you can eat, the wealthier you are.”

“But you’re…you’re thin…”

“Yes, well, I’ve just come of age last autumn. By the time I’m my mum’s age, I’ll probably look more like a proper hobbit of our station,” Bilbo said. “Then there are those who can eat all seven meals but take on a more muscular tone because the work they do is very physical. Like farmers, masons, smiths…”

“To Mordor, that’s insane!”

Bilbo shrugged. “How many meals do Dwarves eat?”

“Three to four when we can,” Thorin said. Bilbo’s eyes bugged as badly as theirs had.

“That’s mad! How do you not starve to death!”

“We just don’t,” Frerin said.

“How about we stop talking about food,” Thorin said. “I think that cultural difference will cause more headaches than needed on all parts.”

“Agreed,” Bilbo said. “How about drink?”

“We’ll drink pretty much any sort of alcohol but prefer ale and beer.”

“Well, preferences actually vary from dwarf to dwarf,” Thorin reminded Frerin.

“And from Hobbit to Hobbit,” Bilbo added. “Personally, I prefer some good ale over anything else, but beer is better than nothing in the end. Or if I’m having a particularly bad day, rum.”

“Okay, so we’ll obviously be drinking buddies if nothing else,” Thorin said as they joined Bilbo at the table. “How about music? Our people tend to be a jack-of-all-trade sort, particularly in the upper class. Every son of noble stock chooses a weapon, a musical instrument and a craft. For instance, our family’s proficient with blacksmithing.

“I’m a swordsman and an archer.”

“I’m more proficient with the axe than the sword,” Frerin added. “But decent with the sword enough to use it in battle if I need to.”

“I thought we were going to discuss music,” Bilbo reminded them.

“Ah. Right,” Thorin massaged his neck. “I’m a harpist.”

“And I’m violinist.”

Bilbo hummed. “Are they difficult instruments?”

The brothers exchanged a glance. “Not really,” Thorin said. “Perhaps when we started learning them, they were difficult, but we mastered them ages ago.”

“Bilbo hummed. “I’m afraid my people are fine with acapella music, so while we’ve plenty of songs we don’t really have music to the lyrics. We’ve musicians, though, who play a variety of wind instruments – flutes and piccolos, mainly.”

“What’s one song of yours?” Frerin asked.

Bilbo hummed. “Well…there’s _The Man in the Moon_ ,” he said. “And the _Green Dragon_ …which is mainly a hodgepodge of lyrics made up by drunks at the inn of the same name.”

“Isn’t _The Man in the Moon_ more a Dwarven song?” Thorin asked.

“Not really,” Bilbo said. “It’s traditionally composed by Men, but it’s popular across many people and cultures. Though…my mum’s written one about her adventures,” Bilbo leaned back thinking back to what the lyrics were before singing:

_When cold winds are calling, and the sky is clear and bright,_

_Misty Mountains sing and beckon me, ‘lead me out into the light,’_

_I will ride, I will fly, chase the wind, and touch the sky._

_I will fly, chase the wind, and touch the sky._

_Where dark woods hide secrets and mountains are fierce and bold,_

_Deep waters hold reflections of times lost long ago._

_I will hear their every story, take hold of my own dream,_

_Be as strong as the seas are stormy and proud as an eagle’s scream!_

_I will ride, I will fly, chase the wind, and touch the sky._

_I will fly, chase the wind, and touch the sky._

“That one’s popular with Elves, isn’t it?” Thorin asked.

“I think it is.”

“It might be,” Bilbo said. “She composed it while in Rivendell while still a girl, I think. It’s been translated into Sindarin and Quenya, for sure.”

“Certainly, a good song for adventures,” Frerin said, a gleam in his eye. “Makes one want to run out the door and go see the world. Right, Thorin?”

“Aye,” Thorin agreed. “What happened to her? It’s hard to see your mother being the composer of such a song.” Bilbo leaned forward.

“First it was the Fell Winter,” he said. “Which was before I was born, but after she married my father. There was a lot of horror that season. Many days one would look out their window and see corpses of their friends, family, and neighbors torn to shreds and half eaten by orcs, goblins, wargs, and wolves. A lot of her generation is still traumatized by it.

“Then a few years ago my father fell ill with a sickness of the lungs. He was coughing blood and often was too weak to even get out of bed. I think his death broke something in her, though she’d never admit it. That’s why Gandalf and I agree it’s so important that she gets out of the Shire, even if just for a little while. But I don’t know if joining your own father’s quest is the best way to help her, you know?”

“No, we do,” Frerin said. Thorin nodded.

“Father’s not been himself since the dragon came,” he added. “Our little sister was trapped inside the mountain when Smaug invaded. She was more precious than the Arkenstone to him, so…”

“Dis, our sister, was the first princess born of Durin’s direct line,” Frerin explained. “And women are rare among our culture anyway. And then even rarer are those who desire to be mothers, so…”

“Three children tend to be considered a large family,” Thorin said. “And daughters are dearly valued. We don’t know if she still lives, but even if she isn’t, we must go back to Erebor and avenge her if she is dead. Or rescue her if she still lives.”

“There have been rumors that if one is close enough to the Mountain, they can hear her singing,” Frerin added. “Who knows how many men of who knows what race have tried to get into the mountain to find out if she lives or not.”

Bilbo hummed, thoughts of a princess trapped in a single mountain peak like a tower and guarded by a dragon running through his head. “How old was she when the dragon came?”

“Ten,” Thorin said. “To the eyes of Men, she’d not be older than two or three years old.”

Bilbo blanched. That’d be about four years old in his people’s reckoning. “She was a baby?” Thorin nodded. “How can you still have hope that she’d be alive after all this time, then?”

“Because someone has to hope,” Frerin said. “Someone has to keep her memory alive, even if it’s just in legend and myth.”

They fell silent for half a beat…Thorin began to sing:

_Beyond the mountain pass within great halls of stone,_

_Natural light shines on the brass and there she lies upon the throne:_

_A child queen of beauty seen: The Daughter of Durin still sleeps._

_The lonely mountain’s queen along with gold a dragon keeps._

_Who will be her destined Dwarf King? Who will rescue the lost princess?_

_To fight a dragon with hurricane wings – a fate lost in a sudden ‘stance!_

_Tis said the king of Durin’s Folk will to his daughter save,_

_Donned in dagger and cloak, none shall be worthy of the queen to brave!_

_For the only hero a babe will need – the one and true savior be known_

_From the dragon, be freed, is the king of Durin’s true throne._

When he had finished his song, the room was dark and taciturn. Bilbo let the song’s message roll around his head, wondering how many believed that Thrain was the only one who could save his daughter.

“I would like to help, but I can’t abandon my mother. Whether I go with you to avenge your sister wholly depends on her. Either way, you have my support.”

#

Thrain leaned against the wall, listening to the boys even as their conversation turned dour as Dis was brought up.

Then there was that woman, Belladonna Baggins.

She was strangely plucky, even knowing that he was a king. She didn’t seem to care about class and station. Gandalf did mention that her heritage was like that of a royal one while also _not_ royal.

She confused him.

He shook his head in attempt to rid her from his mind for the time being and entered the kitchen.

“Lads, it’s time to go,” he commanded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Belladonna’s song is “Touch the Sky” from Pixar and Disney’s “Brave”
> 
> The song Thorin sings is an original poem. 
> 
> Sindarin:  
> *He’s had too much to drink.  
> *I know.  
> *You know I understand you, idiot (Lit: I speak Elfish, idiot)
> 
> Quenya:  
> *Can you speak Quenya? (Lit: Can you speak Elfish?)  
> *Yes.


	3. Chapter 3

Thorin glanced at the house again.

The light of the hearth still glowed from the window.

He spied Bilbo within.

The young Hobbit was kind, polite…maybe a little too polite.

“Thorin!” Thrain shouted. “Stick close!”

He jogged to catch up, boots splashing rainwater as he rejoined them.

“What’s gotten to you?” Frerin asked.

“Nothing,” Thorin snapped, glowering. Frerin smirked at him and nudged him with his elbow.

“Master Bilbo was adorable, wasn’t he?” Frerin asked.

Thorin groaned, shoving Frerin away. His brother laughed and continued his teasing.

“Were I inclined to the male sex, I’d probably have stolen a kiss if I could. But as I’m not, you’ve no reason to worry, aye, Brother? You should make a move next time. At the very least, try to get a kiss. Granted, I hope you go for more. You could use a good fuck.”

“Frerin,” Thorin hissed, shaking his brother so hard his head bobbed. “The less Father knows about my…preferences, the better.”

“So, you say,” Frerin said, pushing Thorin off. “But you’d be hard pressed to hide you’re interest in Master Bilbo if they do join our quest. Father will likely find out anyway. And that’s given if he doesn’t already know.”

Thorin glanced at Thrain’s back.

He didn’t think his father knew.

If Thrain did, he’d likely have told him what Thorin already knew: he was Crown Prince.

He would have to marry a Dwarrowdam and continue the family line, no matter how distasteful the thought of bedding a female of any sort was.

“I’ve a better idea,” Thorin said. “You get married, have kids, and I’ll name them my heirs. Deal?”

“Deal. Now we’re still close enough. Go back and get yourself a Hobbit.”

Thorin shoved Frerin, muttering about what pests younger siblings were!

Especially when they were right.

He did find Bilbo desirable. Thorin was glad he managed to speak coherently with him at all, let alone hold conversation.

Then there was the song he shared with them. He used to find it annoying until now that he knew it was not traditionally an Elfish song. And Bilbo had a good voice…if only he had his harp!

Or even Frerin’s violin!

When they arrived at the inn, Thorin removed his cloak and shook it free of excess water before checking his pipe and pipe weed. Frerin shivered as he looked around the dining room.

Several hobbits, both male and female, stared at them with thinly veiled trepidation.

“Come on, Lads,” Thrain beckoned once his talk with the innkeeper ended.

The portly hobbit led them down a hallway. He opened a door and Thrain half-guided, half-pushed Thorin and Frerin inside.

“You two will need to share a bed,” he said.

Thorin and Frerin exchanged a glance. They’d not done that since their forties!

 _I bet Father could’ve gotten his own room,_ Thorin thought, keeping his back to Frerin.

#

Belladonna woke, gasping.

She stared at the wall with wide eyes as memories she preferred to forget haunted her.

Ghosts of the past that refused to let her live her life in peace.

She sat up, shaking from both cold and panic.

She wept, wishing Bungo had taken better care of his lungs for perhaps the thousandth time. She missed his calming embrace that once eased her back to the present since the Fell Winter’s dark shadow bore over the Shire.

Sighing, she threw the covers off and went to get ready for the day. She twisted her hair into a bun and selected a light blue day dress to wear.

Once dressed, she made her way to the kitchen and began to cook with a little more fury than required.

“Morning,” Bilbo greeted.

Belladonna forced a gentle smile, though the panic had not yet ebbed.

“Good morning, Darling.”

As she continued to cook, he set the table for three.

Gandalf was still around, then.

Likely to still try and convince her to go.

As if she would still refuse after what that infuriating Dwarf insinuated of her, intended or not.

Someone would have to go if only to attempt to keep the fools alive. If she showed off her skills – unpolished and unused as they were after a few years – well, that’d just be a big fat bonus.

Besides, an adventure will also do Bilbo some good before he entirely resigns himself to the Baggins’ sense of duty and obligation.

“Bilbo,” she said, “I gave Gandalf’s proposal a little more thought.”

“You’ll go to Rivendell?” he asked.

“No, I will go to the Lonely Mountain.”

Bilbo winced.

“Those Dwarves are going to get themselves killed and someone with a lick of sense ought to go with them if only to give their king a good kick to the rear. After breakfast, we’ll need to get better clothes done for travelling. My old leathers won’t fit me anymore and it’d be best to get a few weapons.”

“Weapons?!”

Belladonna arched a brow at him.

“I think you’ve more talent for a sword than a bow as I have.”

Bilbo twiddled his thumbs, trying to seem small. “Mum, I don’t think that this is a good idea…”

“Oh, posh! You’ll be fine.”

Bilbo sighed. He knew not to argue.

“What you told Mr. Thrain,” he said. “Is it true?”

“All of it. When I was girl, I had my own pony named Thistle. I rode him every day if I could,” she said, setting a platter of eggs on the table and joined him.

Ah…

She had such good memories from when she was still a girl, before the weight of the world overcame her.

Riding Thistle, practicing her bow and arrow, singing and dancing with Dwarf, Man, and Elf on her journeys East…

Hobbit men were intimidated by her.

Sometimes so were the males of Man-kind.

Her father used to joke that he’d marry her off to a Dwarf since Dwarves would likely be the only sort to handle her.

 _Well, not all Hobbit men_ , she reminded herself.

Bungo had been the exception.

He defied his family and done all he could to be the sort she could handle and who could handle her.

Oh, they had their off days. What couple doesn’t? But their relationship was as good as one could hope, though half the Shire expected them to divorce or for the marriage to fall apart.

Especially after the Fell Winter not long after their marriage.

“Mum?”

She blinked, meeting Bilbo’s worried gaze. Then she realized she was crying.

“Oh. It’s nothing, Love,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I’m all right.”

Bilbo wasn’t convinced. Of course, he wasn’t.

Still, he wouldn’t press, even if he did worry.

“Go ahead and start eating,” she said, standing. “I’ll see if Gandalf is awake yet.”

Belladonna fled the kitchen, trying to dry her eyes.

_By the Green Lady! Get a hold of yourself, Belladonna!_

#

“The wizard’s mad,” Fundin growled around his pipe. “Hobbits! What use would they prove to be? Let alone a hobbit woman.”

“He believes we need them. Still, I can’t say much about the son, but the mother is as hardy as any Dwarf,” Thrain pointed out. “If she comes, it’s likely so to stick it to me.”

Gróin laughed. “I’d like to see that! You, getting smacked about by a Hobbit maid.”

“She is no maid,” Thrain said. “She has a son.”

“Hobbit matron, then,” Gróin said. He leaned forward, leering. “Are Hobbit women as fairy like as they say? Have they really elf-like ears and rosy cheeked?”

Fundin groaned and Thrain lifted his mug, taking a deep drink.

“You’re incorrigible, Gróin,” Fundin snapped.

“Come, brother, you can’t say you’re curious.”

Bifur nodded and signed, _she must be something if Thrain is avoiding the question._

“She’s something,” Thrain muttered. “That is one word to describe her, I suppose. A spitfire. A witch, maybe. In some ways, I think that suits her personality better.”

“Witch?” Gróin pressed. “Well, you do seem bewitched. Good. After Miika died, you’ve been far too dour and nearly too monk-ish. When was the last time you’ got a good lay?”

 _Speaking of the Ka sisters_ , Bifur signed. ( _Thank you, Bifur_ , Thrain thought. He was ready to smack his cousin across the head.) _I hear Riika is with child again. Is it true?_

“Aye,” Thrain replied. He was glad to change the subject from Belladonna Baggins. But did it have to be his late wife and her sister? “Dori decided to stay behind to help her with Nori.”

“Who’s the father this time?”

“As if Riika is able to keep track of it,” Thrain sighed.

Prostitution was risky work, and pregnancy wasn’t the worst risk she faced. Thankfully, she was good at her job and pregnancy among Dwarrowdam were rare.

Still, he worried for her. This might be her last pregnancy and that was if she survived the birthing.

Dwarrowdam were lucky if they lived through one birth.

Miraculous if they survived two.

Usually none made it after a third…

_He had insisted Miika get an abortion when he learned she was with child again, but she refused to even consider it. Not even for their sons._

_They had argued about it constantly._

_He didn’t want to lose his wife. A third child didn’t seem worth it._

_In the end, he was glad she did, even if it left him widowed with two sons not old enough to understand what became of their mother and a newborn daughter._

_He almost didn’t bring Dis to his father, stunned to tears that his last child was a daughter – the greatest gift Mahal could give a Dwarf._

_She was so tiny he could hold her cupped in his hands. She had a tuft of black hair on her tiny head and when she opened her eyes, her eyes were the same blue as his own._

_Once the shock had ebbed, he took her to the throne room, presenting her to his father and the court: the first daughter born of Durin’s line in generations, if at all._

_The marriage proposals started to arrive within her first month of life, infuriating Thrain to no end…how Dis became such a bargaining chip so early…_

“Thrain?”

He jerked, unsheathing his dagger. Fundin drew his hand away. Thrain mumbled apologies.

 _We’ll get the princess back_ , Bifur reassured him, as though he knew what bothered him. _And if not, we will have enough dragon scale to forge dragon steel, so no dragon will sack Erebor again._

“Well said, Bif,” Gróin said. “Another round of drinks!”

“Gróin,” Fundin called.

His brother was already on his way, bellowing at the barkeep for more alcohol.

Fundin sighed. “I suppose more ale won’t hurt.”

 _You know, Thrain,_ Bifur added, _it’s been said that you’re the only one who can save her. Makes sense. She was just a babe when the dragon came. If she were older, they’d likely be saying it was a prince or knight or warrior who could rescue her from Smaug, but since she was still so little, the father would be a more appropriate savior._

Thrain scoffed. “That’s considering she’s alive after all this time,” he said. “For now, I’d rather act on the pretense of avenging her.”

_You don’t even think it’s possible that she’s alive?_

“I can’t entertain it,” he said. “Otherwise I will have to accept that I left her in Smaug’s mercy.”

#

“All right.” Bilbo leaned back. “I’ve sent word to Uncle Bingo about this madness. We should hear from him sometime tomorrow if not sooner…”

“We’re going on a quest, Bilbo,” Belladonna snapped, stuffing extra cloaks in the sacks she bought them. “You may as well call it what it is.” She grabbed some dark colored handkerchiefs and divided them evenly between her and Bilbo.

“Still mad. Everything Dad wanted for us, thrown out the window.”

Belladonna arched a brow. “You think staying in the Shire is what your father wanted for us?”

“Well someone has to stay and be responsible. Really, Mum, why not just take a relaxing vacation in Rivendell instead? You don’t need to go to a dragon’s den.”

“Need to?” Belladonna repeated. “Whoever said it was a need?”

“No one,” Bilbo sighed. “But you only decided to go so to teach Mr. Thrain a lesson. (Not that I think he needs it.) He seemed polite enough and even apologized for insulting you. (Not that I see how he did.)”

“Of course, you don’t,” Belladonna muttered.

 _The wild is no place for a woman_.

Bah!

Even after his apology, Belladonna remained incensed.

He belittled her based only on her sex.

She always thought that she only had to deal with such tomnoddy fools here in the Shire, but apparently, sexism ran apparent in Dwarves just as much as in Hobbits…

Belladonna went to the pantry and cut dried meat into small strips, then gathered some vegetables that could be eaten raw, and some nuts, dried fruits, and grains.

She wrapped them in cheesecloth before adding them to the pack.

_Still missing something._

“Bilbo, I’ve one more task for you before we head out,” She said. “Go to the bank. We’ll need some currency. Five hundred gold coins will do for now.”

“Five hundred? I thought one hundred would be enough.”

“Nope. Not for a journey so far.”

Bilbo stood and grabbed his jacket. “I’ll be back soon,” he said with thinly veiled resignation. She watched him go, hoping that Gandalf was right.

She hoped that going on this quest would help Bilbo find the balance he’d need and the revival she craved…

 _Tea_.

Belladonna went to the kitchen and put the kettle on.

“You may as well come out,” she said. “And have a cup.”

“It seems,” Gandalf said entering the kitchen, “That you still seem upset, Bella.”

“Upset? I’ve been past upset since you brought that fool of a Dwarf into my house!”

“Madam, I assure you, he meant no harm. He did not know you.”

“Exactly!” Belladonna snapped, gathering the teacups. “He did not. And _still_ does not, I’d reckon. Or have you taken time to tell him my life story?”

“I was unaware I had your permission too,” Gandalf said. “But I’ve a feeling you and Thrain has more in common than you think. If it helps, I think you’ve won his respect already.”

“Respect?” Belladonna repeated. She filled the teapot with fresh leaves. “Bah! Men like that think that they’re being respectful when in fact they’re being misogynist.”

“You think too little of the male sex, Belladonna, for all that you are a mother to a man.”

“Bungo knew better than to tell me what I can and cannot do,” she said. “Bilbo as well, though he is certainly attempting to right now. He’s not as subtle as he thinks.”

“Bilbo speaks from concern,” Gandalf said. “He is of an age where he thinks it is his responsibility to care for you. Every child goes through it when their parents get to a certain age. And I think he worries for you after losing Bungo so young.”

Belladonna sighed. “I suppose that’s fair,” she said. “Except I am not that old yet. Bilbo is a silly fool, but what son isn’t? I know he means well in his own way. Still, I wish he would think a little bit. He doesn’t know everything, though he likes to think he does.”

“As do all lads his age,” Gandalf pointed out. “He’ll learn, eventually, that even wizards as old as I don’t know everything, and everything is in a state of constant, never ending change. In fact, I think this quest will change him more than anyone else who ventures this path.”

Belladonna arched a brow. “Gandalf, meddler that you are, I know you’re plotting some sort of love match, so tell me now: which of Thrain’s sons are you hoping to match Bilbo with?”

Gandalf laughed. “Not a thing passes you by, Belladonna Took.”

“Of course not. Bilbo might not want to admit it to me yet, but I’ve known he preferred lads to lasses since he was seven. So, which of Thrain’s son shares the same preference?”

“His eldest, Thorin,” Gandalf said. “Though I’m sure he is in a similar dilemma of not knowing how to tell his father though Thrain, like yourself, has known since he was a boy.”

Belladonna filled the teapot with piping hot water, already in a lighter mood.

The elder of Thrain’s sons was polite enough, she supposed. Awkward, of course. Young adults tended to be in this state of still being a tween while also attempting to be as grown up as possible.

She couldn’t see the lad making the same mistake as his father…Then again, he likely would have made it anyway if Belladonna hadn’t torn into the older Dwarf so nastily.

“Belladonna, there is another reason I think you’d be a good choice for this quest. I am certain Thrain’s daughter lives. Who knows what state her mind is in and what questions she’ll have. Daughters need their mothers as much as their fathers. The ladies that would have taught Dis about her femininity are either dead or no where to be found. She does have an aunt, but she cannot be spared. She’s a young son and is expecting another.”

Belladonna hummed and poured the tea, sliding one cup toward him.

“Why would a dragon care if she lives?” she asked him. “Would he even dare to feed her? Clothe her? Would a dragon know how to teach her?”

“I have spoken with an elf whose wife had been imprisoned by a dragon as a child. They seem to know what these girls require to survive. Food, clothing, warmth, even affection. When he rescued her, she was terrified of him at first, though he had no ill will toward her.” He sipped his tea before reaching for the sugar bowl and cream. “It’s a type of captive’s sickness. These girls are so young that they grow up believing that the dragon is the only being that could love them, but as it is, as long as the girl remains virginal, that is, does not engage in sexual intercourse…but the moment they are no longer a maiden, the dragons abandon them.”

“And how many rescuers forced these girls into losing their maidenhead?”

“Actually,” Gandalf said. “Not one. These are princesses: daughters of lords and kings. You yourself would count as such a treasure back when you were a child. As it is, it’s very rare for the rescuer to be someone unrelated to the girl. Many of these rescuers have been brothers and cousins. It’s rare for a dragon’s princess to be rescued by another who is not of their own bloodline. The elf I mentioned earlier is one of the rarer sorts who wanted the glory of killing a dragon. Finding the maiden who would then become his wife and his queen was not part of his original plan. Add to it, Elves do not force sexual relationships as doing so could cause fading. For the race of elves, rape is akin to murder.”

Belladonna sipped her own tea. “I would like to meet this elf and his wife, if only to gauge the truth from them.” Gandalf hummed.

“We will be passing through his realm on this journey, so if you still insist on speaking to him then, you may. Unfortunately, his wife faded some centuries ago.”

“That is unfortunate,” Belladonna said. “I hope you are right, Gandalf. You may end up hurting those Dwarves more than you think.”

Gandalf nodded. “I am well aware.”

~The Lonely Mountain~

Sunlight streamed through the windows, warming her skin.

Dis opened her eyes, blinking. Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes and climbed out of her bed.

She pulled a gown over her head and brushed her hair and beard.

Once satisfied with her appearance, she stood.

_Today, I make him see I need this._

He’ll listen.

She just had to hope he’d agree.

Dis left her room and skipped down the cold stone and into the treasury. Standing at the top of the steps, she inhaled.

“Father,” she said. “I want to ask you something.”

The gold stirred, clinking as coins fell to reveal a glint of red scale.

Then she could see a snout and jagged teeth.

The head lifted into the air, revealing a neck and golden underbelly. He laid his head next to her, golden eyes unblinking.

“All right,” Smaug said. “What do you want to ask, my precious?”

Dis inhaled again. “I’ve not left the mountain once since you came,” she said. “I’ve learned to speak and hold myself as a mortal princess should, but while I am free to venture through the mountain, I crave to see what lies outside. For just one day I would like to visit Laketown. I will be home before dark and I’ll take a weapon with me, so I will be safe. May I please go to the town?”

Smaug listened to Dis’ request quietly.

“No.”

Dis’ disappointment shone. “But Father –”

“It is too dangerous, my precious,” he purred, nudging her gently with his snout. “Even with a weapon, the Men of the Lake will find a way to take advantage of you or keep you from returning. Or do you not remember the last time someone broke in?”

Dis did.

How could she forget?

A Man from the lake found his way inside. He tried to kidnap her.

Dis had screamed and run from the Man to get her father. Smaug was furious enough to not only kill the man but remind the Lake Men that he wasn’t going to let them take Dis so easily.

He wasn’t the first to have tried. Many Men and Dwarves both had attempted to kidnap her over the years since her father came to the mountain.

She didn’t remember it, really.

Only…

Bits and pieces here and there.

“You are safest here,” Smaug reminded her. “With me. Your grandfather despised you for you were not a son, and your blood father would have wed you to another king who would not love you either.”

Dis sighed. “I know, Father. But I grow tired of being in the mountain! Maybe when you go hunting again, I can go with you.”

Smaug growled low in his throat. “Even then, it is not safe. Men hunt. They kill. I will not risk it, my precious. You have a whole mountain. There are yet undiscovered places, are there not?”

“I don’t know. I feel I’ve seen everything here.” She sat down, feet dangling over the edge of the bridge. “Father, will it ever be safe enough for you not to worry?”

Smaug did not answer, but went back to sleep, burring deep in the gold.

Dis got back to her feet, deciding that it’d never be safe enough anyway. Why should she continue to live in fear?

She decided she was going to leave the mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Holds out chapter." Please kind reader, could you spare a comment? Just a little one?
> 
> Belladonna’s backstory for this Fanfic:
> 
> As a child, she used to play in the woods like every other fauntling. 
> 
> One day, she and her big brothers encountered Elves and went to say hello. The Elves were of Rivendell and were so amused by the children, that they almost took them with them before the Rangers reminded them that doing so was technically kidnapping, so Belladonna and her siblings had to go home. They were given invitation to visit when they were old enough to go, or to bring their parents along. 
> 
> They tell their father about the event and plans are made for a family trip to Rivendell for a while. The younger ones would stay home with their mother – as well as the eldest so he can be acting Thain while Gerontius is gone – and from there, Belladonna begins adventuring as often as she can. 
> 
> When she meets Bungo, she thinks he’s a stuffy fool. However, he’s persistent enough to try and go on adventures with her and builds Bag End when they’re home. Belladonna eventually falls in love with him and agrees to marry him after coming of age (34). 
> 
> After they marry, the Fell Winter befalls the Shire and while she had managed to avoid encountering Orcs before, them coming into their land is unavoidable. She and Bungo manage to survive, but even so, she was traumatized after seeing neighbors and friends ripped to pieces and half eaten. She and Bungo don’t go on adventures again for some time.
> 
> She has Bilbo at 38, but he was almost miscarried, and the birth left her barren. She’s a little broken by that, but neither she nor Bungo let Bilbo think that he isn’t enough for them. 
> 
> When he’s older, the three of them sometimes took trips to the West to the Grey Havens where the area is more populated, so they will have an easier time avoiding less friendly sorts. 
> 
> They did all this until Bungo started getting sick and couldn’t travel as often. Bilbo would be about 27 when Bungo gets sick with either a strain of lung cancer or tuberculosis. He dies when Bilbo is 28 and Belladonna would be 66. Convinced that what had sped her husband’s passing was his love for pipe weed, she bans it from the house. Unfortunately, Bilbo took up the habit anyway when he turned 30.


	4. Chapter 4

~Bree~

~One week later~

Bilbo was starting to get used to the feel of the sword attached to the new belt around his weight.

The leathers his mother insisted they get were more formfitting than he was used to, but, like the sword, he was getting used to it.

The boiled leather was lined with wool for warmth, except for the cloak.

His mother seemed far more comfortable than he’d expect she’d be in trousers, but she managed it better in leathers than he was. Sometimes he caught himself staring at the bow and quiver strapped to her back.

They had bought ponies, as well in Michel Delving. Two palominos named Molly and Honey. They were young, hardy stock, un-shoed and well trained for long journeys.

Bilbo didn’t mind the ponies, much, but they left him a bit more sniffly than he’d like. Thank the Goddess they had packed handkerchiefs if he was going sneeze every few minutes.

They left the ponies at a stable nearby before heading to the inn.

Bilbo didn’t expect much from entering. There were hobbits mingling with men and dwarf alike. A couple elves travelling East kept to their own corner, watching their fellow patrons warily.

One of the elves caught him staring and Bilbo averted his gaze, deciding it wiser to stay close to Belladonna and Gandalf as they made their way over to the Dwarves.

He saw the brothers and grinned, heading over to them.

“Bilbo!” Frerin called, jumping to his feet and moving his seat to try and make room between him and Thorin.

Bilbo pulled a chair over and joined them.

“Been a while.”

“We just met a week ago,” Bilbo reminded him.

“And now we’ll be seeing more of each other. Lots more,” Frerin nudged him with an elbow.

Thorin rolled his eyes.

“Ignore him,” he said. “He’s always been a little foolish.”

“You wound me, Thorin,” Frerin sighed, hand clapped dramatically over his heart. “Bilbo, be glad you don’t have older brothers. They can be so cruel.”

“I’m cruel because I called you foolish?”

“Horribly so.”

“Sorry, Frerin, I would’ve been a big brother myself.”

Frerin slid down his seat groaning dramatically, then he yelped when he slipped off and flailed. Thorin and Bilbo laughed, as did the other six Dwarves around them.

“You’re all assholes!” Frerin snapped as he fixed his seat.

“Bilbo, these are our cousins,” Thorin said, “Balin and Dwalin sons of Fundin, Gloin and Oin sons of Gróin, Bofur son of Nofur, and Vír son of Fami.”

Each of them nodded their heads, reciting, “at your service.”

Bilbo repeated the gesture and greeting.

“Perhaps it’s just me, but I feel we’ve been sent to our own table as if it were some family gathering.”

“In a way,” Balin said with a sigh. “Thrain sees us all still as children, despite that we’re all past our age coming and have been fought beside him in Azanulbizar to avenge the death of Thror. He and our fathers (and Bifur) will fill us in before we go, or so I hope.”

“It’s that or we get front row seats of Balin and Father having another row.”

“Do you blame me?” Balin asked. “I’m already past my first century and still they all insist on treating us as bairns.”

“You think having a father treat you like a child is bad?” Bilbo asked. “That Hobbit woman with them is my mother.”

All save Thorin and Frerin twisted around to see Belladonna with their fathers, Bifur, and Gandalf.

“I heard that a woman would likely join,” Dwalin said. “Bilbo, I’m sorry, but your mother’s easy on the eyes.” Bilbo groaned.

“She is very comely,” Vír added.

“Comely? I’m not one for older dames, but I’d reckon some hearts were broken by that beauty,” Bofur said, leering.

Gloin laughed as Oin smacked the back of Bofur’s head.

“Can you not?” Bilbo asked. “Even if what you say is true, she’s still my mother. I’d rather it not pointed out to me how fair she is.”

“Aye, all right,” Bofur said. “We’ll leave it be. Can’t promise any of them will.”

Bilbo hated to admit he was right. A couple of the Dwarves at the table were staring at her a little too much for his comfort.

He always thought she was beautiful, but only in the way a son would find his mother beautiful. That was all. Never once would he imagine that she was ever desirable to men not his father.

_Ugh._

“Well, I think I could use a pint,” he said, standing. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”

#

Once out of earshot, Thorin glared at the others, daring them to speak.

Dwalin went first.

“I don’t know what happened, but that family lucked out.”

“Oh, aye,” Bofur agreed. “If Frerin didn’t tell us Thorin had his eye on him, I’d have at least kissed him by now.”

“He’s fair enough, I suppose,” Balin sighed. “Though you’ll forgive me for not sharing your enthusiasm.”

“You’re just holding back because you don’t want Dori to know you found someone else appealing,” Dwalin stated with a smirk, leaning back in his chair. “Pity he decided to stay home and help with his brother. At least we’d have more eye candy if nothing else.”

Balin glared at him and hooked his foot under one of the legs, pulling it out from under him. Dwalin shrieked, falling onto his back.

The others laughed at his expense as he hobbled back onto his feet and tackled Balin into a chokehold. Balin flung him over his shoulder. Dwalin landed on the table.

“ENOUGH!”

Fundin seized both of Dwalin and Balin by the shirt collars and dragged them out of the dining hall. Thorin and Frerin sunk in their seats. At least it wasn’t them this time.

“Ooh,” Bofur sighed. “That was close. Any longer I think we’d need to push tables aside and start taking bets.” Vír snorted.

“I’d wager on Balin. He’s got some strength on Dwalin, though if you were pit me against either brother, I’d be lucky even to get out of the ring alive.”

“Aye, but from the sidelines, all is well.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

Thorin excused himself, deciding he needed to get away from the rapscallions he called his friends and family. Bilbo, wisely, had opted to stay at the bar, enjoying a full pint.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” Thorin said, sitting beside him.

The barmaid grabbed a metal mug and filled it to the brim.

Thorin nudged Bilbo. “You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

The maid set the mug in front of him.

Bilbo nodded. “I’ve never seen anything this big. The green dragon only serves half-pints of ale and beer. This is a thing of beauty.”

Thorin had noticed that when they stayed in the Shire.

“I hope they didn’t make you too uncomfortable. They wouldn’t lay a hand on your mother. I swear it.”

“Oh, I figured they were just teasing,” Bilbo said. “But even so it’s not something you want to hear. After all, would you want me to talk about wanting to kiss your father?”

Thorin winced. “No. I would not.”

“Granted, I decided to stay here because your cousins started fighting.”

“I thought so,” Thorin said. “They aren’t usually like that, except when Balin’s lover is brought into the conversation. We all like to tease him a bit about it since he is courting one of the most attractive Dwarves of our generation.”

“Wouldn’t such a woman be more suited for a future king?”

“Dori is a male dwarf,” Thorin corrected.

It was a common mistake, so he couldn’t be angry at it, even if it sometimes annoyed him.  

“And even if he was a female, it wouldn’t be suitable. His mother and mine were sisters.”

Bilbo stared at him with an expression Thorin couldn’t quite place.

“You’ve two cousins who are courting and they’re both male?”

Thorin nodded, wondering how best to explain it to him.

“Women are rare for us and many don’t want to marry or have children as they aren’t well equipped to handle the birthing process. Those who do feel called to it. They genuinely want to be mothers.”

“Is it acceptable for two men or two women to have romantic relationships?”

Thorin nodded. “For some,” he said. “Not for everyone.”

Bilbo hummed around the brim and Thorin took a sip. It wasn’t the best ale he’d ever had, but it would do. Bilbo didn’t seem to mind the quality of it as much.

“Is it not the same in the Shire?” he asked.

Bilbo set the mug down and flagged the maid to request a refill. “No. We don’t have your problem. Our people are quite fertile. Our women can birth triplets or more at one time.”

“But you’re an only child.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“Apparently there were complications during my mother’s pregnancy. No one knows entirely why, but something went wrong during my birthing and she after I was born, she became barren. And just my parents’ luck, I’m a homosexual like your cousin, so sometimes I wonder if our goddess is using me to punish my mother for being too adventurous in her youth.”

Thorin’s chest constricted. “Why worship a goddess so cruel?”

“I don’t,” Bilbo said. “But that’s the only thing I can conclude and it’s what I’ve been led to believe. Homosexuality is seen as sacrilege by my people as two people of the same sex can’t have children, you see. It’s considered an insult to the gift of fertility in a way.”

“What of adoption?” Thorin asked.

Bilbo glanced at him, confused. “Adoption?”

“Taking in an orphan child and naming him or her your own,” Thorin clarified, a little surprised that Hobbits wouldn’t practice this if they valued children so much.

Or perhaps it had nothing to do with children, but one’s ability to have children that was revered more?

If so, it didn’t sound right in any way.

“It’s a common practice among Dwarves because of how many of our women die in childbirth anyway. The birthing mother will often choose another Dwarf or couple who can take in her child in the event of her death. Usually one she knows and trusts such as friend or relative.

“For instance, my mother’s sister named my father guardian of her sons when she was pregnant the first two times. Now that her eldest is of age, he will be acting guardian of his younger brother and the newborn if something happens to her. Among our own group, Bifur took in Bofur and Bofur’s brother, Bombur, when their father died in a mining accident.”

Bilbo hummed. “We never called it…what you did…”

“Adoption.”

“Yes. That. But we do take in our underage kin if something happens to their parents. You said that only certain Dwarves can pursue homosexual relationships. Would it be too much to ask why?”

“Not at all,” Thorin said. “It’s usually regarding one’s station. Now, I prefer a male partner myself, same as you, but because I am heir to my father’s throne, it’s expected that I set my wants aside and marry a female even if just for the sake of having an heir.”

“Seems cruel,” Bilbo said. “Both for you and whoever you end up having to marry.”

“No crueler than what your culture has dictated about who you are allowed to love,” Thorin said.

“I agree. And I think we’ll need something stronger than ale.”

Thorin glanced at the ale, and wholeheartedly agreed.

#

The elves would not stop staring at them.

Neither would the rangers.

Thrain tried to ignore them, but the multitude of eyes were making him nervous. Aside from Madam Baggins, there was nothing to draw attention. He couldn’t believe none of them had seen a female hobbit before. There were hobbits living among them in Bree!

“Wizard,” Thrain said.

Gandalf looked at him, arching a brow.

“Is there not a place a little more private for us to discuss our route?”

Gandalf glanced around the room and shrugged. “I don’t see anyone we need worry about,” he said.

One of the rangers approached.

“What can we do for you, Master Ranger?”

“The she-hobbit…I feel I know her.”

Belladonna looked at him. Her eyes widened, and she grinned.

“Arathorn!”

The ranger returned the grin. “Belladonna Took! I thought you’d given up traveling.”

“Figured it was time to get back out in the world before I’m too old to dare it.” She stood, excusing herself to meet with the Rangers. The elves joined them, also seeming to have known her in her past.

Thrain glared at the Tall Folk laughing and joking with Belladonna. Gróin nudged him.

“Go tell them she’s taken.”

Fundin groaned, massaging his forehead.

(Thrain couldn’t blame him. After the display his sons gave, Fundin might be reconsidering letting them come. Thrain certainly was…)

“She _isn’t_ taken,” Thrain snapped at him.

“Now, perhaps we can get back to work,” Fundin begged.

Thrain sighed and turned back to the map.

“We best head to Rivendell next,” Gandalf suggested. “We’ll need a bit of a rest once we get there, and we’ll want a second glance at your map.”

“Gandalf, I am capable of reading it myself,” Thrain reminded him. “We do not need to stop in Rivendell at all. Look,” he pointed at a blank part of the map. “These are moon runes.”

“What?”

Gandalf took another look, squinting. Then he spied where the leather was just a touch darker than the rest.

“Well, the elves are able to make them appear legible.”

“As can I,” Thrain reminded him. “The elves can guess at the time and moon phase when they were written, but do you really think we would add moon runes and not know how to reveal it _without_ the moon’s light? All I need is a candle, mithril, and onyx.”

“A candle and an onyx crystal are not hard to find,” Fundin said. “Mithril on the other hand will be impossible. Unless…”

They looked at Gandalf.

“I’m afraid I do not make a habit of carrying mithril on my person.”

Thrain groaned.

Trust the wizard not to have even a little mithril on him.

“Lord Elrond can examine the map and determine the exact time and moon phase they were written. I’m aware it’s annoying and may waste time but it is an unfortunate circumstance. We do not have all the tools you’d need to make the runes appear hear and now.”

“Fine, we’ll stop in Rivendell,” Thrain snarled. “As we do not seem to have a choice. But I do pray to Mahal they’ll have mithril. If so, we can be in and out much faster.”

“And I’m sure Lord Elrond will gladly lend you what you need if it is in his power to give.”

Thrain exhaled, wondering if he preferred high elves to woodland elves. Both were rather pretentious and haughty. And eager to forget their own love of things that shine that near equaled a Dwarf’s.

 _Woodland elves are more honest_ , he decided.

Still, without mithril, he could not read the runes.

Thrain turned around to see how Belladonna faired.

She seemed to be more without care among the Elves and Men than she did with them, laughing and drinking.

One of the elves was animatedly telling a tale.

Another had situated himself to Belladonna’s right, long arm around her shoulders. The elf leaned down and kissed her cheek.

“Okay, that’s it. If you’re not going to do something about that, I will,” Gróin decided, getting out of his seat. Fundin pulled him back down.

“Leave it be,” he snapped.

“Why?”

Gandalf cleared his throat, tapping his staff on the ground. The elf yelped, jumping out of his chair, and tackled another, cursing in Sindarin. Thrain and Fundin glared at him while Gróin chortled.

“What?” Gandalf asked. “Belladonna’s my goddaughter.”

“She can also handle herself without your meddling,” Thrain reminded him. Gandalf raised his mug of ale to his lips, seeming content to ignore Thrain.

He glanced back, just to make sure she wouldn’t get hurt from the Tall Folk roughhousing. She was returning to their table and once back, she stood next to Gandalf, pinched his ear, and twisted.

“You did something, didn’t you?”

“Unhand me, woman!” Gandalf said, pulling free from her fingers and rubbed the offended ear. “I’m no fauntling you can just lecture into behaving.”

“No but lecturing you shall get if you keep causing trouble,” she snapped. “Even if I have to get Saruman to do it. Or Lady Galadriel.”

Gróin leaned over to Thrain. “If you don’t marry that woman, I will,” he said in Khuzdul.

Bifur smirked. _Get in line and let the wooing commence._

“Stuff it,” Thrain barked at them.

Gróin and Bifur laughed and if he’d told a perfectly timed joke.

_Why do I bother with these fools?_

“Sorry, Thrain, I think I’d probably try my chances, too,” Fundin added.

“See?” Gróin said. “Best make a move and soon. Like your lad.”

Thrain furrowed his brow and glanced at the bar where Thorin was drinking with Bilbo.

“Any drunker and he might dare risk copping a feel.”

Thrain sighed. “Apologies for excluding you, my lady. You’d not find the nature of our conversation tasteful anyway. And apologies for my son as well.”

“No need,” Belladonna said. “If our lads wish to court, I’ve no issue with it.”

Thrain nodded.

Thorin might not wish to tell him yet, but Thrain wasn’t a fool. Even before the dragon came, he knew Thorin was attracted to his own sex.

He also knew that Frerin was showing interest in young maidens his own age by that time.

Bilbo leaned over and whispered in Thorin’s ear. He could see Thorin’s ears burn bright red.

Belladonna laughed. “Seems they’ve had too much liquid courage, aye?”

“Maybe a little,” Thrain agreed. “Mayhap we should get between them before they make greater fools of themselves?”

Belladonna hummed, watching the boys. So far, she didn’t see anything untoward that would get them in trouble with the Tall Folk.

But it would be a matter of time before they were too drunk to think rationally.

“You get yours,” she said. “I’ll get mine.”

#

Bilbo’s head pounded when he woke in the morning to Belladonna pulling the sheets off him.

“Come on, Bilbo,” she said, smacking his calf lightly. “Up you get. We’ve a long day ahead.”

“Go on without me,” he said. “I’ll catch up when nothing hurts.”

“You’ve none to blame but yourself for drinking three whole pints of ale and five shots of whiskey,” she snapped. “Now get up. Get some food in your belly and drink some water. You’ll feel better in no time.”

“Liar.”

“Believe what you will, then,” she said, pulling on his arm. “Damn it, Bilbo! I said get up!”

“Stop screaming.”

She huffed and left the room. Bilbo was amid grabbing the blankets again when the Dwarf he recognized as Dwalin’s and Balin’s father entered and lifted him out and threw him over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes.

“Thank you, Fundin,” Belladonna said.

“S’all right,” Fundin said. “My lads can be just as bad when they’ve gotten into the spirits. I’ll toss him in the fountain for yeh, Ma’am. Wakes up a lad in no time.”

“Okay!” Bilbo cried, wrestling out of Fundin’s grasp. “I’m up! I’m up!” He raced to dress and down the stairs, ignoring his pounding headache.

“Have you ever tossed your lads into cold water.”

“Once when they were much younger,” he said. “Wakes one up damn quick. They’ve wised up since. Somewhat.”

Their voices melded with the morning talk as Bilbo made his way to join the others.

Most of the group looked fine.

The only one who looked as bad as he felt was Thorin, who seemed to have pulled his cloak over his head to shield his eyes, glaring at anyone who so much as spoke a pitch too high.

Bilbo sat beside him and laid his head on the table, moaning in pain.

“So, lads,” Thrain said, clapping both Bilbo and Thorin on their shoulders. “What have we learned?”

“That you were put on this earth by Sauron himself,” Thorin snarled. Thrain barked a laugh that made them wince.

“I’m never drinking with you again,” Bilbo snapped at Thorin.

“Ditto.”

“How long will that last?” Bofur asked.

“I don’t know,” Bilbo said. “But it certainly won’t be soon.”

“I give it a week,” Vír said, grinning.

“Less!” Gloin bellowed. “Three days, tops!”

Frerin stretched. “I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt. One month.”

“All right, lads, that’s enough,” Fundin said. “Get your orders in for breakfast.”

“Two weeks!” Dwalin shouted, dodging getting cuffed on the ear by his father.


	5. Chapter 5

Rain beat down on them.

The younger Dwarves grumbled and sneezed as they rode on.

Belladonna decided that when they took shelter for then night, she’d make them a hearty stew to lighten their moods.

A glance behind at Bilbo told her that Bilbo was fairing no better than the others, though, as he was wont to do when miserable and knowing nothing could be done about his misery, he kept his silence.

“Stop your griping!” Gróin snapped at the lads.

Well, the weather was irritating the lads’ fathers as well, it seemed.

Belladonna pulled her hood down over her face a little more. Water drenched her fingers and trousers, but better there than in her eyes.

She kicked Honey’s flanks and trotted to Gandalf’s side.

The lads will want a roof over their heads tonight,” she said.

“Aye,” he said.

“Is there a place with one? Even a stable will do at this point, I think.”

“You’ve been out in worse weather.”

“I have,” Belladonna said. “I can handle a bit of rain. My son and these Dwarves on the other hand…”

Gandalf hummed. “There may be a place on the road, but I cannot make any promises that we will find a place for them to dry that is manmade.”

“A cave will do if nothing else,” Belladonna assured him. “So long as we are all dry for the night.”

She turned around to see how Bilbo faired, biting her lip at the miserable glower he had.

“Come now, Love,” she said. “You’ve been out in worse weather.”

“Yes, but I also knew I could have a hot tea and bath waiting afterward. I fear I’ll never be warm again.”

Belladonna squeezed his shoulder.

She’d rather give him a hug, but the ponies made that a little hard to do.

“It’s just a summer shower. The rain will let up,” she promised. “And the sun will poke through the clouds and you’ll be dry and warm again in no time.”

“I hope you’re right, Mum,” Bilbo sighed. “Right now, it doesn’t feel like it.”

She could have pointed out that it could be much worse:

They could be travelling in the middle of winter.

Belladonna decided that’d make it worse for Bilbo instead.

As promised, the rain did let up and the sun shone on them again. They were dry again before nightfall and found an old farmhouse that gave some shelter still.

“I think it would be wiser to move on,” Gandalf said.

“No,” Thrain said. “We are tired and cold, wizard.”

“There is still daylight left,” Gandalf said. “And we are close to Rivendell.”

“Will it still be light out by the time we arrive?” Thrain asked.

“Well…no.”

“Then it can wait till morning. Gloin! Dwalin! Go hunting! Fundin, light a fire! Balin and Oin, get water from the stream!”

“Thrain, I must insist that we go to Rivendell _today._ ”

Thrain turned to him.

“For what? The moon runes are still unreadable yet. The elves will likely not take well to a company of Dwarves, two Hobbits, and a wizard invading them in the middle of the night, and we are all tired. We need to rest, Gandalf. Rivendell does not shift and move as it likes. It will be there in the morning.”

Gandalf looked from Thrain to the others.

Belladonna was already helping set camp and Thrain continued to give commands, handing his pony over to Bilbo as Thorin gathered the other ponies.

“Bella, you agree that we must move on, don’t you?” Gandalf pressed.

They turned to her. Belladonna looked up and arched a brow.

“Actually, I agree with Thrain. The lads are tired, Gandalf. We all are. And as Thrain said, Rivendell will still be waiting for us in the morning. If you want to head on there yourself, no one’s stopping you. The rest of us need to _rest_.”

Gandalf gaped, stunned.

Had he really thought she’d be willing to push the boys and the ponies longer than they can go?

“Sensible” as he would say?

He huffed and went on his way.

“I’ve enough of Dwarves and Hobbits for one day,” he growled.

The rest of the company stared at her. Belladonna shrugged.

“He’ll get over it,” she promised.

“Thrain,” Gróin said.

Thrain turned to him, brow furrowed.

“Marry that woman.”

Belladonna glared at him and Thrain smacked the back of Gróin’s head.

#

Bilbo wrapped his cloak tighter around his shoulders, trying to trap what warmth he had left inside it. Thorin busied himself with sharpening his blade.

“You think Gandalf will come back?”

“Aye,” Thorin said. “He’s a wizard. He comes and goes as he chooses. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had at least one other quest organized for another purpose. Might be checking in on that.”

“Or letting Rivendell know we’d be stopping by tomorrow.”

Thorin grunted. Bilbo turned to him to see his scowl.

“Do you not like Elves?”

“Not really,” Thorin said. “They abandoned my people when we needed them most. Father says it’s necessary to stop there, but I can’t imagine why.”

Bilbo hummed and moved closer, sitting beside him. Thorin was warm and Bilbo wondered if he’d mind sharing some body heat if it meant warming up a little bit.

Platonically, of course.

He set the thought aside.

“Do you trust your father?”

“I do,” Thorin said, setting the whetstone aside and wiping the blade free of oil. “Only reason I’m doing all I can to keep my mouth shut about it.”

He sheathed his sword and set it aside, looking at the ponies with unhindered boredom.

“Do you remember much of Erebor?” Bilbo asked.

Thorin hummed.

“A little bit,” he said. He pulled his pipe and pipe weed free. “I was a child when the Dragon came. By the reckoning of Men, about…seven, eight. I recall a few things: the smell of the pine trees. The guild halls lit by crystal lamps. The giant statues. My brother, cousins, and I used to climb them.” He lit the pipe and inhaled. “Scared my father and uncles into a right fit…I should clarify that Fundin and Gróin are actually cousins, as well, though I address them as Uncles. They are descended from my great-grandfather’s brother.” Thorin furrowed his brow. “Yeah. Wait…yeah.”

“I know the feeling,” Bilbo said. “Though I think my family’s just as mad. My mother is one of…twelve.”

Thorin coughed. “Twelve?!”

“As I said, my people value fertility,” he said. “The larger the family the more blessed you are.”

“Do they expect you to know how many relatives you actually have?”

Bilbo nodded. “Unfortunately. It’s maddening because some of them go on to have just as many descendants. Then you’re also expected to know how you’re related to them. My mum can name her lineage back to the tenth Thain of the Shire, which is her…great-great-great-grandfather. What about you?”

“Farther than that,” Thorin said. “My family is directly descended from one of the first seven Dwarves, Durin the Deathless.”

“You know your whole lineage? All the way back to the first age?”

“Yes, but I will not recite it because it will take all bloody night.”

“I believe it.”

“Thankfully if anyone really doubts, I can go back as far as Durin the sixth, which would be my eight times great-grandfather. Thankfully I don’t have to, they usually get the point before then.”

“That must be annoying,” Bilbo said, getting his own pipe and some Old Toby.

“That’s putting it lightly,” Thorin said, blowing a smoke ring. Bilbo lit his pipe. “So, you know your maternal lineage all the way to your four times great-grandfather.”

“Yes. My father’s family doesn’t go nearly as far. They can only trace it as far as my great-grandfather as they didn’t bother until my mother entered the family and did the lineage for them. But she couldn’t get any of my great-aunts or uncles to tell her about their grandparents. It’s a bit of a pity. Would be nice to go back a little farther.”

“Not as far as mine.”

“Well…it’d be nice to know, but yeah…probably not.”

Bilbo exhaled, letting the smoke billow out of his mouth in a formless lump. Sometimes smoke rings were fun, but most of the time, he just wanted to savor the flavor of the smoke.

“Forgive me if I overstep, but I need to know,” Thorin said tentatively. Bilbo looked at him. “Your people…given who you are and their stance on homosexuality, would you be a virgin?”

Bilbo blushed, and his pipe fell out of his mouth to the ground. “W-No. No, I’m not. I experimented a bit as a tween before I knew for sure if I was homosexual.”

“I’m sorry,” Thorin said. “It was rude of me to ask.”

“Then why did you?” Bilbo asked, picking up his pipe and cleaning the mouthpiece.

Now it was Thorin’s turn to blush. His face and ears were flush red.

“Curiosity, maybe. You’re different from what I’m used to.”

“Exotic, you mean?”

“Well…maybe a little bit,” Thorin admitted, turning away, blushing furiously.

“What of you?” Bilbo asked. “Still a virgin yourself?”

“No.”

Bilbo huffed, staring at the obstinate dwarf. The light was fading, but he could still see Thorin’s blush. He smirked, feeling Tookish.

“If you want to fuck, just say so.”

The reaction was priceless.

Thorin spun back around, gaping, and his blush deeper than before. Bilbo’s smirk widened. Oh, Thorin might not have meant to delve up an awkward subject, but he did, and Bilbo was determined to milk it for as long as he could.

“I…” Thorin swallowed. “If you like.”

Bilbo arched a brow, ready to assure him he was only teasing when a large crack pulled them back to their task.

Two ponies were gone.

#

Dwalin and Gloin returned emptyhanded and in foul moods.

Thrain reassured them that he wasn’t cross. It was just a hope, anyway. They had enough food anyway – stew Belladonna and Bifur worked on together.

It wasn’t much, but it would fill their bellies and warm them.

“Here,” Belladonna said, handing Dwalin two bowls. “Take these to Bilbo and Thorin and then come and get one yourself.”

“Aye, Ma’am,” Dwalin said, sighing.

He took the bowls and headed down the hill. He hoped he wouldn’t walk in on them doing anything that would scar him.

Thankfully, they weren’t.

Bilbo was moving counting ponies and Thorin was puffing on an unlit pipe.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

“Nope,” Thorin said. “We lost two ponies…”

“We did _not_ lose them!” Bilbo snapped. “We misplaced them. Or they ran off! But we did _not_ lose them! You cannot lose animals that big!”

“How else would you explain it!”

“Shall I get Thrain?”

“NO!” They both shouted, startling Dwalin.

“Let…let’s not bother my father just yet,” Thorin said.

Bilbo rocked on his feet and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Or my mother, for that matter.”

“Or Dwalin’s father.”

“Better yet, we may as well just keep it between the three of us for now.”

Dwalin exhaled. “Were you two fucking?”

“No!” Bilbo snapped.

“We were flirting,” Thorin admitted. “Badly.”

“Of course, you were,” Dwalin said.

As if Thorin knew how to flirt _well_.

“That for us?” Bilbo asked, spying the food.

“Yes, but how can you eat when you’re missing two ponies?”

Bilbo ignored the question, prying a bowl out of Dwalin’s hand.

Dwalin thrust the second bowl at Thorin. “Look, you might not want to tell Thrain, but I’m not getting hewn in half because you two were trying to embarrass each other. I’m getting Thrain.”

He made to leave, but Thorin and Bilbo cut him off.

“Dwalin, let’s not be hasty,” Thorin said.

“You could give us a pair of fresh eyes,” Bilbo added.

“Indeed, you’ve the best sight among us.”

“Very keen. And a lovely shade.”

“Again: no.”

“Dwalin if you tell my father, he will murder us. I mean…we agreed, King Frerin is a bad idea.”

“To be fair, I’m more afraid of what my mother is going to do if she finds out we lost the ponies.”

Dwalin glared at them. “I thought you said you misplaced the ponies.”

“Lost. Misplaced. It’s all relative,” Bilbo chuckled weakly. “I’ll just go eat before my grave gets any deeper.” He walked back to the log and sat. “Not much of a last meal.”

Thorin held his hand out, stopping Dwalin from moving onward. “Dwalin, please. We’ll find them. Just don’t tell my father until we know for sure what happened.”

“This is the stupidest thing you’ve ever fucking done: losing _ponies_ , for the love of Mahal!”

“I see a light,” Bilbo called. Dwalin and Thorin joined him. “What do you think it is?”

“Could be bandits,” Thorin said.

“Doesn’t sound like orcs,” Dwalin added.

Another crash nearby started all three of them and two ponies whinnied helplessly as they were carried in two thick arms belonging to a troll, at least twenty feet in height.

“I think I’d prefer bandits,” Bilbo decided.

“No, no,” Thorin said. “This is good. Trolls are slow and stupid. We can make this work. We can get the ponies back. Come on.”

“Oi!” Dwalin hissed grabbing Thorin. “Are you mad? You can’t go up against a troll on your own!”

“Well,” Thorin smirked. “Now you can go get the others.”

He pulled free, heading closer to the troll’s camp with Bilbo.

Dwalin cursed and doubled back, racing to camp. Once close enough, he alerted the others to Bilbo’s and Thorin’s fool hardy “mission.”

Thrain and Belladonna were the first to follow, racing by him.

#

Thorin handed Bilbo a knife and they crawled and the troll camp, avoiding all three as they argued about food and how best to cook pony.

One reached around for what looked like a cauldron with a pole attached to make it into a mug. Bilbo ducked, heart hammering in his chest as the hand came far too close for his liking.

The trolls argued over the mug as Bilbo and Thorin cut at the ropes holding the pen together.

“Oi!”

Bilbo felt fingers tighten around him and he screamed.

“What is it?”

“Can we eat it?”

“Is there more of him around?”

“Nope,” Bilbo said. “There’s not. Just me.”

One of the trolls shrieked as Thorin cut its calf.

“Drop him!” he demanded, snarling. The troll threw Bilbo at Thorin. Bilbo flailed and Thorin caught him. They fell as the company raced out into the clearing.

“So, that happened,” Bilbo said, getting off and helping Thorin back to his feet.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“Duck!” Thorin pulled Bilbo behind him, slashing at the troll’s hand reaching for them. “Get the ponies!” Bilbo dodged the mayhem and finished cutting the rope. Belladonna seized his arm as the ponies raced off, again dodging getting grabbed by a troll.

“Mum, what are you doing?” Bilbo shouted.

“Later!” she shot back, notching an arrow and shooting one of the trolls in the eye.

It roared and stampeded, bumping into its companions. All three went down and the dwarves climbed on them, slashing and stabbing where they could.

The trolls stilled, and the Dwarves bellowed in triumph.

“And now that that is done with…” Belladonna pinched Bilbo’s ear and twisted. “What madness possessed you to approach trolls?!”

“They took the ponies,” Bilbo whimpered, pulling free and rubbing his ear.

“You should have come and gotten us the moment you noticed the horses were gone! You could have been killed, Bilbo! You and Thorin both! Everyone could have gotten killed because of your foolery! I know you know how to think, so why didn’t you _think_?!”

Bilbo blinked, stunned and a little panicked as Belladonna began to weep.

“I’m sorry, Mum,” he mumbled, hugging her.

Belladonna clung to him, almost afraid to let go. She wasn’t a fragile woman. Far from it. Bilbo knew that. She was the strongest person he knew. But looking back, she really hadn’t been the same since his father passed.

What would have become of her if the trolls had killed him when she was, in a sense, fading?

“Back to camp!” Thrain announced. “Thorin! Bilbo!”

Bilbo paled as Belladonna released him and nudged him over to their leader.

He looked forward more to getting a well-deserved spanking from his father as a fauntling than whatever Thrain was going to do to him and Thorin.

No matter how it was also well-deserved.

#

Gandalf returned at dawn. Most of the company slept peacefully, save two.

Bilbo and Thorin were struggling to stay awake. Bilbo’s eyes were a little bloodshot and Thorin swayed.

“Have either of you slept?” he asked.

“Nope,” Thorin groaned.

“We lost four ponies and almost got everyone killed.”

“Well, the trolls almost got everyone killed.”

“Death by troll is not a good way to go.”

“No.”

“Granted I thought Thrain _would_ kill us.”

“Aye.”

“How long is he going to do this to us?”

“No clue.”

Thorin yawned.

Gandalf shook his head. “Now would it have been easier to just move on?”

“Take that up with Thrain and Mum,” Bilbo snapped.

“I need coffee. Strong coffee. In fact, just give me the damn beans,” Thorin growled.

Gandalf patted the prince’s shoulder and headed down to where they had left the ponies. Indeed, there were four ponies short of their prior number.

No matter.

It would not be easy going over the Misty Mountains with ponies anyway, even if it would have been faster with them.

As the lads had said, there were troll carcasses now solid stone.

Gandalf stroked his beard. If there were trolls, then there would be a troll cave nearby. And inside it a treasure trove. He’d lead the company down to inspect it once everyone had woken and had breakfast.

And a talk with Thrain and Belladonna. While he agreed that the lads deserved to be punished for nearly getting everyone killed or eaten and for losing four ponies, he also felt that making them hold watch all night was a tad cruel.

He’d have made them walk the rest of the way to Erebor carrying whatever the ponies had been.

He sought out the cave, covering his nose from the stench of troll. He ventured further in, finding a stack of weapons. Gandalf lifted one and unsheathed the dusty blade. It was void of rust and unchipped. Upon further examination, he could deduce they were Elven make.

He clipped the blade to his belt and carried the others, including the ones of smaller make for their Hobbits. He returned to the camp. Bilbo had been taken off watch and was busy stirring whatever was in the pot. Belladonna was counting her arrows as the Dwarves packed camp.

“I think you’ll all like to see what treasures you’ve won,” he called, “After defeating the trolls.”

“What treasures?” Fundin asked.

Gandalf told them of the troll cave and presented the new weapons. One of the daggers he handed to Belladonna. The Dwarves inspected the blades. Thrain lifted a broadsword and unsheathed it, inspecting the blade.

“What make are these? I do not recognize the mark.”

“They were made in Gondolin,” Gandalf said. “Ancient yet durable. Lighter than any blade you’ve ever handled, I’d say.”

“Aye, it is light. Still, Thorin would have an easier time with it than I. He’s the tallest of us.”

Gandalf arched a brow. “Here I thought you’d still be cross with him.”

“I am,” Thrain said, sheathing the sword. “Even so, I will not deny him a good weapon. Besides, my lad is clearly besotted with Madam Baggins’ son. Putting them together on the same task was a gamble I will not take again but otherwise I think they’ve learned their lesson.”

“Elfish blades,” Fundin snarled as Thrain selected another dagger for himself. He weighed a short sword after stuffing the dagger in his belt. “What use would they be?”

Thrain shot his cousin an unimpressed glare. “Extremely,” he said, taking the two blades in either hand. “If they are as ancient as the wizard claims, they’ll glow blue if we come too close to Orcs and Goblins. Thorin! Frerin!”

He approached his sons, handing the broadsword to Thorin and the short sword to Frerin.

Belladonna unsheathed the blade she was given, examining the make. “Gandalf. I am an archer. Not a swords-woman.”

“Even archers know how to use another weapon of some sort,” he pointed out. “And you’ve plenty to teach you. I do not doubt your strength, my dear, but a sword as light as that would be best in the hands of a lady, I think. In the event your arrows are spent.”

He knelt beside her. “Belladonna, are you well?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, clipping the sword to her belt.

“I had hoped getting out of the Shire would help slow your fading.”

Belladonna swallowed. “Does Bilbo know?”

“He may suspect. He has not said a thing to me yet if he does.” He sighed. “I do not think Bungo would want you to fade.”

“Perhaps not, but that cannot be helped, can it?” She stood and approached Bilbo, checking on breakfast’s progress. Bilbo glanced at Gandalf, frowning.

He knew.


	6. Chapter 6

The first thing Bilbo wanted to do when they arrived in Rivendell was to get a bedroom.

Damn what his companions thought.

He needed a bed.

He needed one _now._

Unfortunately, Thrain had different plans for the company and Bilbo found himself falling asleep to the Elfish music.

Thorin, it seemed, was having just as hard a time. His head dipped down to his chest every so often and he’d jerk back up, blinking rapidly.

“All right there, lads?” Bofur asked.

Thorin grunted and Bilbo yawned deeply.

“Father’s not going to let us sleep any time soon, is he?” he asked.

Frerin shook his head, smirking. “Music doesn’t help, I take it?”

“Of course, it doesn’t,” Bilbo snapped. Or, rather, tried to snap.

“Well, then, there’s nothing for it, lads,” Bofur said, getting up and began to belt a drinking song. At the head table, Gandalf and Belladonna were embarrassed, Lord Elrond irked, and Thrain battling between amused and wroth.

Thorin and Bilbo exchanged a look and snuck away as their companions shouted and screamed, tossing food about like balls.

“Well, that could have been worse.”

“Agreed,” Thorin said. “For now, though, I need a bed.”

Bilbo hummed, waving over an Elf servant and voiced their request.

The Elf led them down the hall and granted them a large room with two beds of Dwarf and Hobbit size complete with desks and cabinets. Bilbo thanked her as Thorin stripped free of his weapons and overcoat before collapsing on the bed.

Bilbo eyed the Dwarf Prince through half-lidded eyes.

When he was rid of the wolf pelt, armor, and weapons, he was smaller in appearance. No less broad shouldered or muscular, but his appearance more easily defined.

Handsome, in an approachable way.

Bilbo swallowed and removed his own coat and weapons before crawling into the bed opposite Thorin’s…

#

Belladonna leaned against the balcony, memorizing the valley.

The sun was bright and warm.

The air cool and gentle.

The smell of water and earth was clean.

She didn’t realize how much she missed being in Rivendell.

“I thought you’d like to be with your companions.”

She turned to the Elf and smiled. “Glorfindel,” she said. “Still enjoying retirement, I suppose.”

“I would not say that, _melleth nin_.” He kissed her hand. “You’re still as beautiful as ever, Bella. I am sorry I could not be there after your husband died.”

“I was not alone,” she said. “I still have my son, though I do not know where Bilbo went off to. Hopefully not causing more trouble.”

Glorfindel hummed, leaning against the rail with her. “You know you are welcome to stay here, Bella.”

“I know. But I made a promise and I will see it through.”

“Then I will accompany you and these Dwarves.”

Belladonna stared at him. “That would not be wise.”

“You’ll be travelling through the Greenwood,” he pointed out. “Those are not kind elves and I fear what Thranduil would do if he spied you. Or even your son.”

“The Dwarves may be uncouth and rowdy,” she said. “But they have been respectful to me and mine. I trust they won’t let anything happen to us.”

“I am sorry I do not share your faith. Especially given your condition. It would be best if you did stay.” Glorfindel covered her hand in his. “To many of us would mourn you, Belladonna. I know you loved Bungo, but he wouldn’t want you to fade.”

“I agree,” she said. “He wouldn’t. Yet I can’t seem to stop fading. Bungo wasn’t a great warrior nor a mighty king.” She scoffed. “He wasn’t even a charming prince. But he was my home. He made sure I felt safe, no matter where we were.”

Glorfindel didn’t answer.

Or could not.

Many of Belladonna’s suitors were jealous when Bungo Baggins won her heart.

It wasn’t that any of the others weren’t good enough. Many were warriors, soldiers, rangers…strong men and very, obviously smitten.

She was not the sort of maid they’d come across before when she was younger.

Nor the kind of Hobbit they’d ever met before.

Then there was Bungo.

He wasn’t in love with her because of her talent with the bow, or for her sharp tongue which cowed even Wizards. Nor did he think he loved her because he thought her exotic.

In fact, he was just as sharp witted as she was. And he was blunt with his words. Not one to beat around the bush, Bungo Baggins, while still being unfailingly polite even when he spoke his mind.

Oh, he was clear from the beginning that he fancied her and at first, she was unconvinced. She could not imagine another Hobbit daring to want her. She was too wild. Too adventurous.

Too much Took.

She thought he must have been dared into courting her for the amusement of his companions or something just as cruel.

Knowing now that was not the case, she can admit she was the cruel one in their relationship. Especially early on when she had every reason to doubt him.

But Bagginses are stubborn folk as much as Tooks are adventurous. And her husband was perhaps the most stubborn of all.

Belladonna gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“You know I am mortal, Fin. And I stand by what I told you before. It is cruel of a mortal to give their heart to an Elf for all your long years. Death will come for me one day. I can rest assured that my son is an adult now and if this is my last adventure, then I will see it through to the end.”

A clearing throat interrupted them. Lindir rapidly spoke and Glorfindel sighed. He kissed her hand once more.

“ _Guren n_ _íniatha n’I l_ _û n’I a-govenitham_ ,” he whispered.

Belladonna laughed lightly as he dropped her hand. “Still a sweet-talker, you are, Fin. Go on before Lindir drags you off by the ear.”

The elves left, and Belladonna sighed heavily, crossing her arms. She hoped Glorfindel would find someone who would be better for him. She knew it wasn’t her, even if he (and many others) would like it to be.

#

_Thorin groaned, running his hand through amber curls._

_Bilbo hummed as he stroked Thorin’s cock and sucked at the head._

_The Hobbit glanced at him with a wicked gleam in his eyes…_

He woke, blinking and still tired. He pushed up and rubbed his eyes, glowering at how peacefully Bilbo still slept in the other bed.

Thorin sighed and debated what to do about his cock pushing against the seam of his trousers. He couldn’t very well leave the room like this. Nor could he just take care of it with Bilbo so close.

(Admittedly, the idea was appealing, but he also didn’t want to scare Bilbo off…)

In the end, he looked around the room and felt relief finding a fully stocked bathroom connected to their room. Thorin filled the tub and stripped out of the travel worn clothes. He dipped into hot water and felt his muscles relax as the heat soaked into his skin.

Once certain he was as alone as he could hope, he leaned back and began to stroke his cock as his thoughts turned back to the dream he had woken from.

He was truly beautiful. Tanned skin and freckled. Hair that glimmered in sunlight, the color of bronze and gold mingled together. His blue eyes bearing into Thorin’s, never blinking as he slid into Thorin’s lap.

Thorin wanted to touch and kiss every inch of Bilbo he could.

Part of it was predatory. He wanted to stake his claim on the younger Hobbit. He wanted to lay him on sheets of gold thread and drape him in strings of diamonds, rubies, and pearls.

The other part was reverential. He wanted to worship him. To kneel before him and kiss his feet and bring him to the brink where madness and pleasure became one.

He thought he’d love nothing more than to pin Bilbo down on the bed. He’d kiss him, undress him and trail his lips down exposed flesh. Bilbo would let him. Even encourage him. Once completely bare before him, Thorin would prepare him…

Or perhaps Bilbo would take over, prepare himself as Thorin watched, hungry and awed as Bilbo sunk down on his cock…

Thorin gasped as he came, biting back his voice. He relaxed, breathing deeply as he debated how to face his new friend.

New paramour?

They’d not done anything save flirt a little. They’d not even kissed. Though they were getting close to when they trolls decided to cause ruckus.

Thorin drained the tub and redressed quickly. He squeezed water free from his hair and ventured out the bathroom to grab his comb. Bilbo had turned around in his sleep and Thorin paused to stare at him. He was gorgeous, even as he attacked an itch on his nose.

It hurt, almost, thinking how he wanted Bilbo so, but his father would not approve. Likely neither would Bilbo’s mother. Both Thrain and Belladonna seemed to be a force that demanded reckoning.

What would either do if they knew how deeply his lust went for Bilbo?

Thorin pulled himself out of his reverie and seized the comb.

#

Elrond viewed the map and sighed, handing it back to Thrain.

“The runes will only shine on a night like when it was made. That moon is still nigh a century away.”

“Unless you’ve a mithril disk,” Thrain said.

Elrond blinked, a little surprised. Thrain smirked at him.

“What? You think we would use moon runes and not know how to make them appear any time we wished them to? We’ve our own magic and our own tricks.”

Elrond hummed. “I may have some mithril somewhere,” he said, eying him curiously. Thrain pulled free a disk of obsidian and handed it to him.

“It must be close to this diameter and shape,” he said. “I will also need a candle and two panes of glass.” Elrond repeated the instructions to Lindir, handing him the obsidian.

“I hope you take no offense if I witness this trick you intend to perform,” he said. Thrain arched a brow. “Dwarf magic is rare to find and rarer to see,” he explained.

“It is not magic. More an illusion and hardly secret.”

“Your companions may not agree,” Elrond pointed out. “They may not like me being there.”

“As long as your intent is honorable and respectful, I care not.”

Elrond nodded. “My intent is certainly that. I am curious, is all, and I hope that is respectful enough.”

“Aye,” Thrain said. “It is.” He wouldn’t condemn curiosity. He sometimes thought if Dwarves were less secretive, perhaps they would be welcomed more readily.

True, they had their reasons, but some of those reasons dated back centuries before even his own grandfather was king.

“If I may ask,” Thrain said. “We seemed to have misplaced some of our companions. My eldest son and both Hobbits.”

“Madam Baggins is around, I’m sure, perhaps visiting old friends. Her son and yours have retreated to bed. They did seem half-dead on their feet.”

Thrain laughed. “Aye, they were that. Certainly.”

“Dare I ask?”

“Recall the trolls Gandalf told you?”

Elrond groaned. “Do I want to know more?”

“Probably not.”

They fell into a comfortable silence as they walked.

“Madam Baggins is a remarkable woman,” Elrond said. “Many of the warriors here I know have been besotted by her when she was younger.”

“I believe it,” said Thrain. “That woman is not one I’d like to cross.”

“None do and come out unscathed. You’re lucky if all she does is lecture you.”

Thrain laughed. “Then I must be lucky indeed. Madam Baggins has only chewed my head off for assuming her like other women.”

Elrond snorted. It was the most undignified thing Thrain had ever heard from an Elf.

“That does sound like Bella,” he said. “Take care with her, Thrain son of Thror.”

“Eh? No. No, I think any relationship I have with that woman will strictly be platonic.”

“Many have said so before you. All of them wished for more than friendship before the end.”

The elven lord nudged his head toward a few Elves training.

“Some of them, for instance, were besotted within days some years ago when she was still a maiden. She is still as beautiful as we all remember, but the fire that burned in her is dying. If you were able to spark it, even unintentionally, well…”

“You’re as bad as my kin,” Thrain snapped. “Gróin especially! I’ve half a mind to kick his ass and tell him if he likes the idea of a Durin’s son with a Hobbit, then he can marry her and be done with it. Or let things take their natural course between her heir and mine.”

Elrond laughed again. “That obvious?”

“Other than my nephew Dori and my cousin’s son Balin, I’ve not seen another pair so well suited. It would be a bit odd, you think, for a pair to fall in love only to witness their old parents do the same.”

“You may be right,” Elrond said.

“I know I’m right.”

#

Frerin tossed a throwing knife in the air. “You think they’d have a pub around here?” he asked.

“That’d be nice,” Bofur said. “I could use a pint. What’choo think, Vír?”

Vír exhaled and lowered his pipe. “Wouldn’t say I’d mind a drink, aye. But let’s think: where would you go in an Elven city for a mug of beer? Do they even know what beer is?”

“Oh, come on, even if it’s just wine, a drink’s a drink,” Bofur laughed. “And I could use a drink. And a merry ol’ song.”

“Thorin!” Frerin called. “Bilbo! Where’ve you two been?”

“Found a place to fuck yet?” Bofur asked, smirking. Bilbo smirked back.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he said. The others laughed.

“There are likely plenty of places for a quick fuck,” Thorin pointed out, sitting beside Dwalin. “That is, if you don’t mind being seen.”

“Oh, I don’t,” Bofur said, grinning broadly. “Maybe if we do, we could invite an elf. A bit of Dwarf might be what they need to loosen them up.”

“You realize that in sleeping with an Elf, you end up married to them, right?” Bilbo asked. Bofur blinked. “I know. It sounds backwards.”

“Aye. What if you sleep with someone and they end up being a complete ass? Who wants to be married to an ass? I’d rather just fuck and if they end up being an ass, we go our merry way and hopefully never have to deal with them again. I wouldn’t want to be stuck with them.”

“Exactly,” Bilbo said, pulling his pipe free. “Fucking other Dwarves, or even Hobbits, is much simpler.”

Dwalin shook his head. “Tell me you got it out of your system,” he whispered to Thorin.

“Sadly not,” Thorin mumbled back. “Though if he ends up being amenable, we have a room.”

“Well, you got that going for you, if nothing else.”

“So!” Bilbo said. “We need alcohol and we need it now!”

This was met with bright cheers.

“You found a pub?” Dwalin snapped incredulously.

“No, I found an elf and I asked him where the pub was,” he said. “Now either you can believe me and drink some long-legged pointy-eared stick-in-the-muds under the table, or not and remain sober.”

“Good enough for me,” Bofur said.

Good enough for everyone, it seemed, as Bilbo led an entourage of Dwarves deeper into the valley.

The streets were as calm and as quiet as one would expect until they found an alleyway with a sign swinging above, beckoning and promising.

They entered, expecting to be stared at.

None dared. Too deep in their own drinks and singing drinking songs.

One mad Elf was even swinging from the chandelier.

Bilbo led them to the bar and an Elf woman took their orders.

Apparently, Elves do drink beer.

They’d, as one Elf assured them drunkenly, would drink anything that could get them drunk just as much as any other race.

After a few drinks, Bofur was back on the table, belting _Man in the Moon_.

_There’s an inn, a merry old inn beneath an old grey hill,_

_And there they brew a beer so brown_

_That the man in the moon himself came down to drink his fill._

The Elves joined the song with the Dwarves and Bilbo after a beat.

_The ostler had a tipsy cat that plays a five-string fiddle;_

_And up and down he runs his bow,_

_Now squeaking high, now purring low,_

_Now sawing in the middle._

_The landlord keeps a little dog that is mighty fond of jokes;_

_When there’s good cheer among the guests,_

_He cocks and ear at all the jests and laughs until he chokes._

_The man in the moon took another mug,_

_And then rolled beneath his chair;_

_And there he dozed and dreamed of ale_

_Till in the sky the stars were pale_

_And dawn was in the air._

_So, the cat on his fiddle played hey-diddle-diddle_

_A jig that would wake the dead:_

_He squeaked, and he sawed and quickened his tune,_

_While the landlord shook the man in the moon:_

_“It’s after three!” he said._

After the song ended, one Elf even pulled Bofur into a full-mouthed kiss. Frerin and Vír heckled Bofur as he returned to his seat with a bright red face.

“How about a Hobbit drinking song!” Vír shouted. Bilbo glanced at his mug and finished it.

“All right, then,” he agreed, getting on the table.

_Hey, ho, to the bottle I go,_

_To heal my heart and drown my woe!_

_Rain may fall, and wind may blow,_

_But there still be many miles to go!_

_Sweet is the sound of the pouring rain,_

_And stream that falls from hill to plain!_

_Better than rain or rippling brook,_

_Is a mug of beer inside this Took!_

_Strange and dark is the world outside,_

_But in the pub, we've naught to hide!_

_With lots of ale, and barley wine,_

_This evening is surpassing fine!_

_Harvest's in and cold without,_

_And hobbits strong are hobbits stout!_

_Naught to fear, and naught to think,_

_For hobbits now have ale to drink!_

An easy tune to follow along with. The music and belting songs continued even as Bilbo returned to the ground and getting more beer, cheeks flushed from exhilaration, drink, and embarrassment.

Thorin leaned against the bar beside him. “You’ve a fine voice, Master Baggins.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo said. “You’re not a bad singer yourself, you know.”

Vír pulled Frerin up onto the table to sing another song, specifically _That’s what My Old Grand-Mum Hates_. Gloin and Dwalin were busy trying to out drink each other as Oin and Balin conversed with some less inebriated Elves.

“I’ve no voice for merry tunes,” Thorin said. “Too deep. I do well with ballads, though, and more somber tunes. I’d probably depress the whole room if I tried to sing a drinking song.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Bilbo said. “I’m sure you’ve sung many a merry tune in your time. As it is, you’ve truly a remarkable voice.”

Thorin raised his mug to his lips and took a drink.

“I’m sure you could recite the most somber ballad ever written and your listeners would cum in their pants,” Bilbo continued, smirking.

Thorin choked, beer spilling out his mouth and down his chin. “You’re drunk, Master Baggins.”

“Hardly,” Bilbo said. “I’ve enough mind to still consent to a good fuck. That is if you are.”

“So, you mean to seduce me?” Thorin asked, throat tight.

“I was under the impression that we were mutually attracted to each other. If I am wrong, please tell me so I can make my apologies and then proceed to get drunk to drown my embarrassment.”

Thorin swallowed. “You’re not wrong,” he assured him. “I would like nothing more than to sleep with you, but…” He sighed. “I do not want just a sexual relationship. I admit I am a romantic. I also fear what would happen if we were to be caught.”

“By who?” Bilbo asked. “Our parents? They won’t know if we’re discreet enough. Also, I’m not against a little romancing. You’d look good with some flowers in your hair…though I suppose Dwarves wouldn’t court that way, would they?”

Thorin shook his head.

“Our courtships don’t contain anything so fragile as flowers. We make gifts for the one we are courting or who we wish to court. We also weave a braid in their hair. Yours is too short, though…”

“And if we don’t want our parents to know it may be best if we don’t do anything that would draw their attention. I don’t know about you, but my mother would certainly notice a braid in my hair. She doesn’t know I’m a homosexual and…well…”

“I understand.” Thorin pressed his forehead to Bilbo’s, gazing into his eyes. “You have beautiful eyes, _Zantulbasn_ _ê_ ,” he whispered.

“I don’t know what that means,” Bilbo said.

“It’s an endearment,” Thorin assured him. “I’m afraid that’s all I can say for now.” Bilbo grinned.

“I’ll take your word for it, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sindarin:  
> Melleth nin = my love  
> Guren níniatha n’I lû n’I a-govenitham = My heart shall weep until I see you again
> 
> Khuzdul:  
> Zantulbasnê = my hobbit (common, polite form)


	7. Chapter 7

Thorin woke to sunlight hitting his face and a weight on his chest.

He blinked as he regained his wits, remembering the events that led to him sharing a bed with Bilbo Baggins. He readjusted his stance, worried that he’d wake Bilbo, but the Hobbit only mumbled, still deep in his dream.

He watched the younger Hobbit sleep, curious as to what he would do now. He couldn’t do what his culture would deign appropriate.

He couldn’t weave a braid into Bilbo’s hair.

Nor could he begin gifting him with courting trinkets – beads and clasps for his hair. Jewels to adorn him with. A weapon of a sort so he could feel protected even when Thorin was not there to watch his back.

Would Bilbo even feel the same?

Would he even know the significance of Thorin’s actions?

Likely not.

Given the nature of the quest, Thorin knew it was unlikely that either of them would survive even the journey to Erebor.

 _But what if you both do?_ A voice filled with hope echoed. _You could survive. You could both live in the end. Would you risk the King’s wrath then? Be with your One?_

Thorin swallowed, feeling his throat tighten and his mouth go dry.

Bilbo couldn’t be his One.

Could he?

Would Bilbo even love him in return? Or as deeply as Thorin already did?

He threw the covers off him and gathered his trousers, tugging them on quickly.

“Good morning.”

Thorin faced him. Bilbo brushed his hair out of his eyes, still bleary with sleep.

“Going somewhere?”

“To relieve myself, _amrâlimê_ ,” Thorin assured him.

It wasn’t a lie. His bladder certainly was demanding his attention…

Bilbo hummed and stretched as Thorin made his retreat before he could act on the thoughts flitting through his mind.

Thoughts that made staying in bed all day seem like an excellent idea.

#

Elrond handed Thrain a diadem.

“It was my wife’s,” he explained. “I would prefer it not to be destroyed, but there is mithril in it, or so I am told.”

Thrain nodded. He ran his thumb over the mithril. An Elf might mistake it for silver, but mithril was brighter. Closer to white rather than light grey.

The diadem was forged silver with three mithril disks. A lesser eye would mistake it for pearl, perhaps, but the shimmer in the light allowed Thrain to see it for what it truly was.

“It will be returned in exact condition,” he promised.

Elrond nodded, mouth pressed into a thin line as Thrain popped the round disk on the right out of the circlet.

“Still interested in seeing this trick?”

“I am. The other items you require are ready when you are.”

Thrain nodded. “Tonight, then, after dinner.”

He left for the forge. If he was going to use the mithril set in this diadem, he’d need to pop one of the disks out and with care if he wanted to reset it before returning it to Elrond.

Thrain examined the craftsmanship, frowning.

The Elven lord had more faith in him than he had ever once given an Elf before. He certainly wouldn’t have trusted any Elf, no matter how agreeable, with something that had belonged to Miika.

Still, they would need the mithril.

He would do what he could to return it in its original condition, if not in better condition so it may be passed on to Elrond’s own daughter.

Elven forges, as he had suspected, were as open as anything else they liked. The smiths there were busy at work, making and shaping tools, jewelry, and weapons.

Thrain was content to ignore them and be ignored, finding an empty work station. He entered the area, seeking plyers and a spy glass helm.

He put on the helm and examined the crown more, deciding which disk would suit his need and how best to remove it without compromising the design too drastically.

“Father.”

Thrain glanced over his shoulder at Thorin.

“Come in, lad,” he said. “Been wondering where you got off to.”

“It’s not important,” Thorin assured him, ears burning red. Thrain hummed. “Have you found what you need here yet?”

“I have. In fact, you’ve younger eyes than I. See if you can get that one unset.”

He pointed at one of the disks in the corner before handing the tools to Thorin. Thorin took them and examined the diadem as Thrain had. He bit the inside of his cheek as he tested the silver’s stability.

“It’s well made,” he concluded.

Thorin ran his thumb over the silver setting holding the mithril in place.

“I’d need a thin chisel blade. Thin as a knife blade. With the right amount of pressure, I could release it without damaging it too much. But not entirely. The disk you’ve in mind will be loose if I were to return it to its place. Do you intend to reset it?”

“Yes.”

“Wouldn’t that compromise the design? It may be best to remake it in the end. Vír is a jeweler. He could draw the design and remake it in the end. And it would be as new.”

“I do not know if we have that sort of time,” Thrain told him. “Otherwise I would agree.”

“Then I think you’d best see Vír, then. Only a jeweler will be able to properly get it out and remake it as though nothing had happened to it…”

“I had feared that,” Thrain sighed. “Well, fetch Vír, then. We will need him.”

Thorin nodded and set the diadem down with the tools.

“Thorin.”

He paused, looking at his father. Thrain smiled at him and patted his arm.

“Young Master Baggins is a fine lad. I like him well enough.”

Thorin stared at him with something akin to a mix between shock and mortification.

And it was well worth it.

“You…know?”

Thrain grinned. “Lad, I’ve known since you were as tall as my knee. If your happy, all’s well. But do take care. This is a quest we’re on, with little certainty of returning. I hope to be wrong, but as you know, we can’t be too careful.”

Thorin nodded, still blushing. He exhaled, shoulder’s dropping and sat down. “Father, I know my lot in life will not allow me to marry for love.”

Thrain’s brows shot up to his hairline. “Why ever not?”

“Frerin and I made an agreement. His children will be my heirs, but I know that I cannot marry another man. Let alone one who is not a Dwarf.”

“Where’d you get that idea? You aren’t the first Dwarf of noble blood, let alone royal, to find his One in another male. And if you think there are not any Dwarves in our histories that had found their One among the race of Men or Elves, then you need to study your history better.”

Thorin scoffed, which Thrain decided to ignore.

“Lad, I don’t _care_ if you fancy blokes. Never have. And as for Master Baggins, his mother and I are both all right with it. The way you two behave around each other is entertaining for us old parents. I know you too well, Lad. You’re in love and I am not about to tell you not to follow your heart. If we get through this quest, you’ve my blessing to court him properly. And to explain our customs to him. Otherwise, you’ll end up confusing Master Baggins and I’d hate to see what that does.”

Thorin swallowed. “You really don’t care?”

“Why would I?”

Thorin lurched forward, embracing Thrain. He had not done this since before the Dragon came. Thorin was not a child anymore, but Thrain didn’t mind that.

#

Vír dismantled the mithril and examined the setting. He handed the disk to Thrain.

“I’ll need a strong lacquer to reset it, but otherwise it’s undamaged,” he assured him. Thrain nodded.

“Excellent,” he said, patting Vír’s shoulder. Vír beamed under Thrain’s praise, even as the king went on his way to read the map. He caught sight of Thorin at another forge, deep at work. Vír approached, wondering what the prince was working on.

His eyebrows arched at the blade he was making.

“I think we’ve plenty of weapons, Thorin,” he said.

Thorin turned to him, cursing. “Don’t do that!”

Vír shrugged, unapologetic. “So, what’re you doing? It’s not that boring here.”

“Nothing you need worry about.”

“Would it have anything to do with when you and Bilbo ran off last night?” he pressed on. Thorin snarled at him. Vír smirked. “Are you making him a courting gift? Did your father finally tell you he knew you were a homosexual?”

“You’re not going to leave me be, are you?”

“Would you rather it be Frerin bothering you? Granted, I think I’m better at keeping a secret anyway.” Thorin set down his tools and faced Vír with his arms crossed over his chest and glaring.

“Yes, he told me. And yes, it is a courting gift.”

Dwarven culture dictated that a pursuant would make no less than seven gifts for the one they wished to court before enacting an actual courtship.

The first, traditionally, was a weapon for the one they wished to court, so that they could, in a way, be able to protect them.

The last, also traditionally, was a bead or clasp for their hair. If the suit was accepted that far, the pursuer would braid the clasp or bead into the pursued Dwarf’s hair, and they’d be an official courting couple.

The other five gifts were to, in some way, show that the pursuer knew what their beloved liked, accepted their profession, and was able to provide should the courtship progress. They could be anything. Food, cloth, books, more weapons, jewelry, etc.

“For Bilbo?”

Thorin glared at him. “And if it is?”

“He’s not a Dwarf.”

“Funnily enough, I did notice that,” Thorin said. “My father gave me permission to explain it to him.”

“Just the courtship stuff?”

“It’s not like that’s something that can be used against us.”

“True. Not that I think Bilbo would. Use anything against us, I mean. Only, would it be fair? Hobbits age faster than us. We’re not immortal, but we have long lives.”

Thorin sighed. “I don’t know,” he said. “Still, it is my choice to make.”

“And his,” Vír pointed out. “He is well within right to reject your suit. If he does, what then?”

“Vír, I don’t want to think on that right now,” Thorin said, returning to the dagger. “If I am filled with doubt, I will not be able to pursue him at all.”

Vír watched him hammer into the metal violently. He had not wanted to hurt him. Thorin was one of his closest friends. He didn’t want him to have his heart broken because he knew Thorin would carry that pain with him till the end of time if he could.

He didn’t think Bilbo would hurt him intentionally, but at the same time, Bilbo was not a Dwarf. He wouldn’t know what to do about Thorin’s suit. If Bilbo was Thorin’s One…

Vír left the forge and went to find Bilbo. If only to gauge what the younger Hobbit would do if Thorin pursued him.

#

Bilbo was enjoying second breakfast when Vír approached him.

“Good morning,” he greeted with a bright grin.

“And good morning to you, too, Bilbo,” Vír said, returning the smile. “How was last night? You and Thorin left in a hurry.”

Bilbo’s cheeks flushed. “Uh…it was well. Very well.”

“Good,” Vír replied. Bilbo nodded and took a drink.

“Is there something I can help you with, Vír?” he asked.

“Not sure, yet,” he said. “You probably don’t know much about our culture.”

“No, but I’m willing to learn. Have I given insult?” Bilbo blanched at the thought. “I assure you: if I have, I did not intend to and would like to make it right if I can.”

“As far as I know, you’ve not done anything of the sort,” he said. “It’s actually about your relationship with Thorin.”

Bilbo blinked, feeling a bit more relieved. “Oh.” He pushed his plate away from him. “Erm…dare I ask what this is about? Are you in love with –”

“No! No, I prefer Dwarf women, I assure you. I’m only concerned as his friend…well, not concerned. That’s too harsh a word. Worried might be more like.”

“Because of his status, I’m sure,” Bilbo said, starting to think he understood. “I know my relationship with Thorin – if it really can be called that – won’t be more than what it is now. If you’re worried that I might hurt him, I think you don’t have to. I’m quite certain that Thorin is more likely to hurt me before the end of this quest. He likely has a Dwarf Lass he’s engaged to marry. Being a future king and all, that would make sense. Still, I can handle it.”

Vír stared at him. “Thorin doesn’t have a betrothed,” he assured Bilbo. “Where’d you get that idea?”

“He’s a prince. Even if he doesn’t have one now, he likely will someday. Add to that I’m not a Dwarf, so I doubt that you’re people will accept me as…whatever a male spouse to a king is, I guess.”

_Durin’s beard, they’re both idiots._

“Well, just hypothetically, what if he decides he wants to court you anyway?” Vír asked. _Thorin’s gonna kill me if I’m not careful_. “Would you reject him? I think that would hurt him, wouldn’t it?”

Bilbo laughed humorlessly.

“I don’t think Thorin would ever want to court me,” he admitted. “I’m all right with sleeping with him. But more than that, well…I don’t really see it happening.”

“But say he does decide he wants to court you. To be your husband someday.”

Bilbo shrugged. “I likely would accept it. So long as he’d want me. I don’t see why he would, but I wouldn’t turn him away.”

“Good. Great. No, that’s really great.” Vír stood and patted Bilbo’s shoulder. “I’ll see you around, Bilbo.”

“Right. Sure.”

Vír left the veranda and went to find the others.

This was going to take some work and he couldn’t do it alone.

#

Thrain set the gems down on the table as he prepared the map for reading, setting it under a glass stand. Elrond watched him curiously.

“Will it need to be dark?” he asked.

“Yes,” Thrain said. “But it’s ready to be read.” He readjusted the lamp’s position so that the candle would hit the mithril in a way to mimic moonlight.

Elrond hummed as Thrain examined the map again.

“What are you looking for?”

“A way to determine when the runes were added exactly.”

Elrond held his hand out for the map. Thrain stared at him. “If I may, I can determine it for you.”

Thrain hesitated, but after the trust Elrond had already given him, he supposed the Elf had no reason to deceive him. Thrain handed him the map and Elrond looked closer.

“They were written on a Mid-Summer eve under the light of the crescent moon.”

“But is it waning or waxing?”

“Waxing, I believe.” Elrond set the map down on the table. “And now, we wait. Perhaps, Lord Thrain, we might discuss what to do about Belladonna Baggins. I do not feel it would be wise for her to continue.”

Thrain arched a brow at him. “The wizard disagrees.”

“Gandalf, you know, tends to think he knows what is best, even when he ends up being wrong. She is fading and it would be best if she stayed in a place where she can pass in peace.”

Thrain sighed and crossed his arms. “I worry about her as well,” he said. “Yet there is one thing I do not do: I do not go against what Gandalf thinks is best. He feels that Belladonna needs this one last quest. Fading or not, she has been irreplaceable so far. Until I met her and her lad, I would not have thought Hobbits to be so strong or brave.”

“They are like Men, in a way,” Elrond said. “Fickle. Not one Hobbit is like another. Do not let the bravery of the Took lineage fool you. They are a rare breed even among their own people.”

Thrain could see that. Most Hobbits weren’t the sort to venture anywhere if they could help it. They weren’t lulled by what ruled others. Not gems. Not gold. Only in what is living. Simple things. Sunlight. Earth. Rain. And it wasn’t even _this_ or _that_ which brought the Bagginses into his fold. For the matriarch, it was solely to put Thrain in his place. He knew it. Could see it.

Belladonna was an impressive woman. No denying.

As for her son…

Thrain didn’t know for sure what Bilbo’s motivation was. Staying close to his mother to make sure she did not hurt herself on this venture (despite that the lad was more likely to get hurt himself) or his budding romance with Thorin. Or was there more?

“I think it would be best not to tell Madam Baggins what she should or should not do,” Thrain decided. “And where she goes, so will her son. I can tell there are many Elves here that care for her and would like her to be safe, but can we agree that in the end, the only one who can tell her what to do is her own mind? Forgive me, Elrond, but I do not wish to find myself on the wrong end of her arrow or blade.”

Elrond chuckled. “I suppose that’s fair.”

“Besides, she and I have a standing wager on how long it will take for our lads to get their heads out of the clouds.”

#

Dwarves were strange folk, Bilbo decided in the end. From Vír’s questioning about his relationship with Thorin to Thorin himself staring at him. He liked the Dwarves, of course. They were a merry bunch and he could get behind that well enough.

But why was Thorin staring at him so much?

Bilbo arched a brow at him, and Thorin averted his gaze. Bilbo was half ready to confront him if it continued. But first:

Dinner.

While they were resting in Rivendell, there was no excuse not to have a proper amount of meals if one could afford it.

Bilbo caught Thorin staring at him again as he was chewing a soft bread roll.

Well, this was getting ridiculous.

“What’s wrong? Something on my face?” he asked.

Thorin’s eyes bugged. “No. You’re fine.”

“Then why do you keep staring at me?” Bilbo demanded. Thorin ran his hand through his hair.

“It’s nothing you need worry about.”

“Perhaps not, but it seems to be getting under your skin, if nothing else. Ergo, I am worrying anyway.”

“Later, all right? In our room. Please?”

Bilbo glowered at him. “All right. But you will tell me what’s going on, won’t you?”

“I will.”

“Good. Now will you stop staring at me? I’m trying to eat and you’re making the whole thing more uncomfortable than normal, if at all possible.”

~Erebor~

Dis had been nothing short of careful.

She found a door that she could pull open from the inside. It led outside the mountain. The air was cool in her lungs and sweet. The land before her was dry and barren, but she could see the village on the lake. For now, it would do: just lounging on the rock there and watching the sky.

There were no animals.

But she loved the sky. It was so blue and bright. Her favorite time of day was dawn when the sun rose. It was a pale warmth. Gentle and tingly against her skin.

Going into the town, though, would be much harder to do.

She thought about what she’d need.

Money, she guessed. Her father told her that certain things were considered necessary.

Copper would be easiest to take. Her father only cared for the gold, so she didn’t think he’d miss a few copper and silver coins.

Food could be bought or hunted.

A weapon of sorts. She found the armory and had selected a knife to hide in her skirts. She sharpened it herself and tested it against the meat Smaug had brought home to make sure it was dangerous enough.

It wasn’t a claw or tooth, but she was not a dragon, but a Dwarf. She did not develop her own weapons as her father had been born with.

She thought that if she had enough coin, she might also be able to bring something precious and beautiful back to her father.

Perhaps it’d ease his anger – for he certainly would be angry. There was no denying that he would be when he learned she had gone against him and went to the village – and lessen the inevitable punishment Dis would receive for her disobedience.

The sky was darkening again.

Night.

Time to return to the warmth of the mountain.

Dis entered and pushed the door shut before returning to the treasury. Smaug shifted under the gold again and sniffed her.

“You smell different.”

“Bad different?” she asked, pouting.

“Not sure yet,” he replied, bumping her with his snout. Dis grinned and embraced him. As always, he was scorching warm. She was used to the heat, though. Even enjoyed it, especially in the colder months when she never felt she would ever be warm again.

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Father,” she assured him. “Goodnight.”

“Sleep well, my precious.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex Scene here. Enjoy :)

~Rivendell~

Thorin held the finished product up to the fire light.

It was a double-edged knife. Easy to keep on one’s person. It could be slipped into Bilbo’s pocket.

Normally, a Dwarf would keep something so small attached to their boot, but as Hobbits did not wear shoes, let alone boots, a pocket will have to do.

Thorin flipped it in the air and grinned.

It was simply made.

Save for a small rune for protection on the hilt, it was unadorned.

The sheath was stiff leather with a loop that went around the hilt to hold it in so it would not damage Bilbo’s clothes or cut him when he took it in hand.

Now to give it to Bilbo.

If Bilbo would have it.

Vír’s warnings echoed in his head.

Thorin reminded himself that it was one opinion. Besides, Bilbo might surprise him. He’d been a rather surprising person so far.

And his father had allowed it.

Would that not be reason enough to at least _try_?

Thorin pocketed the finished blade and cleaned the station for the next artist who wished to use it. Once done, he decided he needed a bath.

If he was going to begin courting Bilbo, he didn’t want to smell of sweat and forge smoke.

On his way back to the room where he and Bilbo had taken residence during their stay, he spied his brother, cousins, Bofur, and Vír enjoying the outdoor fountain.

Thorin thought about whether to join them but decided it best to return to the room. Even if only to put the gift away.

“Thorin!” Frerin shouted. “Care to join us for a swim?”

“I’ve an errand to run at the moment,” he said, approaching the fountain. “But if you’re all still here in about half an hour, I could join in then.”

“Is it a particularly important errand?” Balin asked.

“Well…”

“If not, then strip and get the fuck in!” Dwalin snapped.

Vir waded over to them, grinning. “Does it have to do with the courting gift?”

“Courting gift?” Frerin repeated, grin widening. Thorin glared at Vír.

“The least you could do, Vír, is keep it to yourself. Especially around Frerin.”

“Oi! I know how to keep a secret.”

“Well?” Dwalin pressed, grinning just as nastily as Frerin.

Thorin sighed. “Yes. Happy? I finished it just a few minutes ago. Could I at least put it away before joining in any tomfoolery?”

“What’d you make?” Bofur asked.

“And who for? There’s not anyone here but Elves,” Gloin added.

Thorin rolled his eyes and produced the knife.

“It’s for Bilbo,” he said, allowing it to be inspected. “I kept the design simple since I don’t think Hobbits value riches and adornments as much as we do. It will do what it is meant to do, though.”

“Well, it’s not like he’d need to know what this rune means for it to be effective,” Balin agreed. He balanced the blade on one finger. “Nicely balanced. Lightweight.”

“What of Father?” Frerin asked.

“Apparently he knew my preferences for a long time,” Thorin said, shrugging. “And he’s given his permission and approval. I wouldn’t have bothered making it otherwise.”

He arched a brow at his companions.

“Satisfied? Can I put it somewhere safe now?”

“I guess so,” Frerin said.

Balin handed the blade back to Thorin.

“But I think we’ll all be watching on the sidelines, watching you make a fool of yourself.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to do anything else, _Nadadith_ ,” Thorin said, wrapping the blade back in cloth and putting it in his pocket.

“I’ll also likely kill him if he breaks your heart, you know.”

Thorin glared at him.

“What? It takes a lot for you to put yourself out like this. And you’ve never been interested enough in anyone to want to court them. So, I want to see you happy. Is that so much to ask?”

“No,” Thorin sighed. “It’s not, but…well…I think that…”

They stared at him, waiting for him to finish.

 _Is he, though?_ “

I think Bilbo might be my One,” he confessed. “So, even if he does reject me, I’d rather you just leave him alone.”

The silence told more than he’d wish.

“Thorin, Hobbits don’t live as long as we do,” Balin said sadly. “They age and grow a little slower than Men, but they have about the same amount of years to their lives. By the time Bilbo’s an old man, you’ll barely be middle aged.”

He had not known that. Thorin swallowed.

“All the more reason to spend the time I will have with him, then,” he decided. “If he will have me.”

#

He looked up from his book and grinned.

“Good evening,” Bilbo said.

Thorin did not return the smile as readily as he had that morning.

“Is everything all right?” Bilbo asked, trying not to sound too nervous.

Thorin laid his coat on his bed before turning to Bilbo.

“Tell me the truth,” he said. “You’re people. How long do they live?”

“What?” Bilbo asked, taken aback at the question.

Thorin refused to respond, it seemed, from the way he glared at Bilbo. Bilbo marked his place in the book and set it on the nightstand.

“Well…on average, perhaps eighty years, but the Thain, my maternal grandfather, is a hundred and thirty-two years old. He is the oldest living Hobbit in known history so far.”

“And you? How many years does that give you left?”

Bilbo blinked. “About fifty. Maybe seventy, but I don’t see how I’ll live past more than that, if I’m lucky.”

Thorin more collapsed onto his bed rather than sat down on it.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Clearly not nothing. I like to think we’re friends, Thorin, at the very least.”

Thorin exhaled heavily. “I fear this…relationship we’re developing isn’t going to work out. I _want_ it to, Bilbo, but it won’t.”

Bilbo frowned. “Why? How long is the lifespan of a Dwarf?”

“Approximately two hundred and fifty years, though some have lived to three hundred before,” Thorin replied quietly. “I have perhaps another two hundred years to live.”

Bilbo moved from his bed to sit beside Thorin.

“Why should the lifespan of my people determine whether or not we should be together? And why are you worried about that? We’re on a quest, after all. We could die any time. I mean, we almost died a few days ago. Though, I think we all hope to survive it long enough to get to the mountain, if nothing else. Right?”

“Yes, but…say we do survive the journey there, then survive the Dragon’s wrath, and survive whatever else may come after. I don’t know if I’d want to watch you grow old before my eyes.”

“Well, I don’t think that’d be something to worry about,” Bilbo said. “I mean, you’ll be a king. I’m not exactly a suitable person to stand beside a king. If we do survive all that is to come on this quest, well, afterward I think my mother and I will return to the Shire. So even if that’s something you worry about, I don’t think you need to, Thorin.”

Thorin closed his eyes. “I see.”

“We’ll only be together for the duration of the quest, anyway,” Bilbo pointed out.

He hated to say it, but it was the most likely outcome. He already decided to treasure the time he had with Thorin, after all. And let him go when the time came.

Thorin nodded stiffly and refused to meet Bilbo’s gaze.

“For now, I don’t want to think of what will come. Can’t we just live in this moment while we have it? I would like to kiss you, Thorin, just as much as I would like to fuck you. I like the time we spend together. I don’t want to lose that just because you realized that my life will end before yours. That’s ages away from now, Thorin.”

Bilbo gently touched Thorin’s forearm.

“Can’t this be enough for now?”

Thorin looked at him sadly, as though attempting to memorize him.

“This will never be enough,” he said at last. “You say you are not worthy to be my consort, I will have no other. You say that you will go back to the Shire when the quest ends, I would have you stay with me. You say that the time we have now is what we should focus on and cherish. I _do_ cherish it and always will, but why should I only be allowed a few short months with you when what I want is all the time Mahal will give us? If all I will have with you is fifty years, then I will learn to live with it.”

He reached into his pocket and produced a patch of cloth.

Bilbo took it and unraveled it. He stared at the knife. Small enough to fit in his pocket. The leather was soft and strong. Bilbo pulled the knife out of its sheath and examined the metal.

He wasn’t a blacksmith or skilled at any craft, but he could tell that it was exquisitely made.

“I…erm…thank you, I suppose?” he said, confused. “I don’t know what to make of it.”

“My people have rather extensive rituals when it comes to courting another,” Thorin said. “Before a suit is accepted, the intended will receive seven gifts. The first, by tradition, is a weapon. I know you’ve already two: the elfish sword from the troll cave, and the one your mother had made for you. This one may be forged with Elfish steel, but it is Dwarven design. And it is yours if you like. And so am I.”

Bilbo sheathed the knife.

“Thorin, you’re a prince. Aren’t princes only supposed to marry princesses? Why are you giving me a courting gift?”

“Perhaps in certain lands and cultures, that is the rule. Not among my people. We do not take to falling in love lightly or easily. I always knew that I would not want a princess from a neighboring Dwarven kingdom, and I had settled that I may spend my life alone. That I’d watch my friends and my brother find their Ones. I accepted that fate until I met you. I guess that from the moment I saw you, I knew that you were my One.”

“You _really_ want to court me?” Bilbo asked.

“I do,” Thorin answered.

He pressed his forehead to Bilbo’s, running his hand through Bilbo’s hair. Thorin’s thumb brushed against Bilbo’s ear.

“I want to court you and more, if you would have me.”

“But –”

“Forget that I’m a prince for a moment. If I wasn’t a prince, would you still hesitate?”

“I wouldn’t,” Bilbo said. “But you’re not just a prince. You’re the _crown prince_ , so you’ll be king after your father.”

He paled.

“What would he say? I thought we wanted to keep our parents from finding out about us! If you court me, or vice versa, they’ll find out!”

“My father already knows about us,” Thorin assured him. “You don’t need to worry about him.”

Bilbo swallowed. “I don’t understand. You can have anyone you want.”

“Why would I want just anyone?” Thorin asked. “When I have you? Or do you not want me?”

“Of course, I want you!” Bilbo exclaimed.

The idea of _not_ desiring Thorin seemed ludicrous to him.

“Then why is it so strange that I would feel the same?”

Bilbo stood and paced the room. “You come in, upset because you found out that I’ve only half a century to live when you’ve still a whole two.”

“Yes.”

“And yet, even then, you decide you still want to court me even though you know full well that we won’t have that much time together anyway.”

“Yes.”

“You are _that_ convinced that you’re in love with me?”

“Yes.”

“What about your people?”

“I don’t care what they think.”

Bilbo stopped pacing. He glanced at the dagger, laying beside Thorin on the bed. He swallowed.

“Vír knows that you want to court me, doesn’t he?”

“All of our companions are aware of how I feel for you. They don’t care that you’re not a Dwarf. They know you and they value you. You are one of us, Bilbo, even if you decide I am unworthy of you.”

“Unwor—you are so overdramatic, Thorin Oakenshield!” Bilbo shouted.

He seized the collar of Thorin’s tunic and crashed their lips together.

Thorin groaned, pulling Bilbo onto his lap. Bilbo straddled him, tangling his fingers in Thorin’s hair.

They broke apart only long enough to undress. Bilbo pushed Thorin back onto the bed and climbed on top of him, grinding his hips down against Thorin’s length.

Thorin gripped Bilbo’s waist, stilling him long enough to get the upper hand. Positions reversed, Thorin pinned Bilbo’s hands above his head with one hand and stroked his cock with the other.

Bilbo whined, trying to pull his arms out of Thorin’s grasp.

“Fuck me. Please.”

Thorin grinned. “I would, but I have you here right now and the oil is in the bathing room.”

“Then let me go get it. Easy to remedy,” Bilbo said, wiggling a little bit.

“I’ll get it,” Thorin decided. “There’s more I want to do to you before I fuck you.”

He let go of Bilbo’s wrists and went to the wash room. Bilbo grabbed the knife and tossed it to his own bed where it wouldn’t interfere.

When Thorin returned, he set the vial on the nightstand and settled between Bilbo’s legs, pulling his hair to one side and closed his lips around the crown.

Bilbo moaned, digging his fingers into the sheets. Thorin hummed and sucked, pulling him into his mouth.

And such a wicked mouth!

Thorin slid down to the root, humming. Bilbo gasped and tried to buck into Thorin’s mouth but was pinned down by Thorin’s hands. Bilbo whined, cursing under his breath through the torment.

Too soon, Thorin moved his mouth away from Bilbo’s cock and moved further down, sliding his tongue into Bilbo’s hole.

Bilbo let him do as he pleased, half relieved and half disappointed as he regained his breath.

“Thorin, let me turn over,” he said.

Thorin let off and Bilbo turned onto his front, hugging the pillow as Thorin resumed rimming him. Thorin let off.

“Oil,” he growled.

Bilbo was happy to obey, handing him the vial. He shivered as cold liquid hit his skin. Fingers caught the oil, dragging it between his cheeks. Two fingers eased into Bilbo’s hole.

“You’re still loose from last night,” Thorin purred, thrusting his fingers in. “Bet I could take you now and it’d be fine.”

Bilbo doubted it, but it’d be a nice tension inside him.

He’d bet he’d feel full.

Still, Thorin just fucked him with his fingers, adding a third one inside steadily. Bilbo gasped when Thorin’s fingers brushed against his sweet spot.

“There! Yes! Right there! _Thoriiiin…_ ”

Thorin massaged it, running his fingers over the spot as Bilbo chased his orgasm, reaching between his legs and stroking his cock.  Thorin pulled his fingers out and thrust his cock inside.

“All right?” he asked, gripping Bilbo’s hips.

“Yes,” Bilbo said. “I’m fine. Fuck me. Please, Thorin. I need you to fuck me.”

Thorin rolled his hips, easing into a quicker pace. Bilbo whispered encouragements as Thorin leaned over him till his chest pressed to Bilbo’s back, thrusts growing staccato.

He whispered in Bilbo’s ear promises in his native tongue.

Bilbo wished he knew what was being said. All he could make out were _Amrâlimê_ and _Ghivashel_. If only he could know what Thorin was saying, perhaps it’d mean more to him.

Bilbo quickened his strokes, whining…

At last, he felt his body stiffen and his seed spill onto the sheets. He spasmed as the aftershocks wrecked him, squeezing around Thorin’s cock and causing Thorin to cum inside him.

Thorin’s strength gave out not long after and he collapsed on top of Bilbo.

“I think we need to bathe,” Bilbo said. Thorin chuckled.

“I can’t move.”

Bilbo supposed that was only to be expected. He wiggled out from under Thorin and moved to lay on his back, running his fingers over the smooth, muscled back.

“So. Do I get a braid yet?”

Thorin turned to him, looking quite content.

“I wish I could say yes. There are five more gifts I need to give you first. The seventh gift is a bead which will hold the braid I give you together. On that day, we will be considered…erm…fiancés would be the closest translation.”

“Ah. I didn’t know that.”

Bilbo drew letters over Thorin’s skin with his finger.

“Is there anything I need to do in the courting process? Aside from accepting these gifts?”

“I’m the pursuer, so no. Not unless you wish to. And you should know you’re free to reject them any time.”

“While that’s nice to know, Thorin, I don’t think I’ll do that. So…say I wanted to court you in the way of _my_ people?”

“Go right ahead,” Thorin said. “Though, do me the courtesy of explaining the customs. Otherwise I might get confused.”

“So long as you do the same, Darling.”

#

The night cast a dark glow over the valley.

The moon was New.

Black as the sky.

Thrain lit the candle and maneuvered it to shine over the mithril disk. He placed the map under the lamp light and shifted the obsidian disk over the mithril till silver runes appeared.

_Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks_

_And the setting sun with the last light of Durin’s Day_

_Will shine upon the key hole._

“Fascinating!” Elrond exclaimed. “It is not yet mid-summer, so how did you manage it?”

“Heat,” he answered. “From the lamp. It’s not easy, but heat can be tempered and adjusted so to replicate a time of year. Also, we’re close to mid-summer, so it didn’t take much.”

He set the gems down and folded the map back up.

“Vír son of Vili is a skilled jeweler. He’ll have your wife’s diadem back to you before this time tomorrow good as new.”

“I appreciate that,” Elrond replied, bowing his head in thanks. “You are certain Belladonna should continue on.”

“If I tell her not to, she’ll likely do so anyway.”

Elrond laughed.

“Good point. She would. I’ll just have to tell her admirers that I at least tried to convince you to leave her behind. Granted, you may end up with at least one more companion in such a case.”

Thrain sighed.

“Do hold back that information from your men, if you please. I do not need to explain to my kin why an Elf decided to come with us.”

“I do have one question more to ask you,” Elrond said.

Thrain arched a brow at him.

“What do you hope to achieve in going back to Erebor?”

Thrain exhaled. “I will answer with a question of my own: if it were your daughter, how far would you go to get her back and ensure she is safe once more?”

Elrond’s eyebrows rose.

“As for me, I will do whatever it takes to get my daughter back or avenge her if she has died. I do not know her fate, but I will find out, one way or another.”

Elrond blinked, then gazed to the East.

His voice took on an ethereal echo as he spoke.

_The Maid of Golden Halls,_

_The Queen Beneath the Mountain,_

_Shall leave her mountain home._

_The bells will ring in gladness,_

_Her tale will be told in song._

_The dragon shall awaken,_

_His rage will shake the earth_

_And the lake will shine and burn._

The Elf lord swayed, as though he was returning to his body. He steadied himself on the table and took a few deep breaths.

“She’s alive. But you won’t need to go to the mountain,” Elrond said, sounding more himself. “If you truly wish to reunite with your daughter, you need to hurry. If you and your sons are not there, I fear what may happen to her. My own blacksmiths will fix the diadem. You and your kin will leave in the morning. Not a moment later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. They actually talked. *Stares at Thorin and Bilbo in awe and pride*


	9. Chapter 9

Rain beat down on them, soaking the company through despite their wetskin cloaks.

Belladonna worried for Bilbo, staying close to him. She feared he’d catch his death at this rate if they didn’t find shelter soon.

Thrain sent Thorin and Frerin ahead to seek a cave where they could dry off and get some rest. They paused just as a violent crash of lightening hit the rock above them.

The men shouted and Belladonna shoved Bilbo against the wall, clutching at his cloak tightly. She could feel him shivering from the cold.

She felt it, too. It seeped from her feet and travelled up her legs. Thorin returned, shouting at the company to follow him. They did so, stepping carefully so not to slip off the side of the pass.

The cave was large enough to hold everyone. Frerin had already gotten a fire going. While Thrain did not seem too pleased by this, he was outvoted, and the fire stayed lit.

Everyone was cold and wet. Fire would both warm them and dry them.

Belladonna rubbed Bilbo’s arms, trying to warm him just a little bit now that they were safe.

He thanked her with a kiss on the cheek and joined the sons of Thrain by the fire. Thorin threw his arm around Bilbo and Belladonna arched a brow. They had attempted to keep their relationship secret.

What changed that now?

She found Thrain lighting a pipe. Well, she couldn’t stop any of them from smoking, though she detested it and the smell.

Still, she was used to it enough to approach.

“When did our lads throw away their caution?”

“Do you mind it?”

“Of course, I don’t! I just wasn’t expecting it. I thought perhaps Thorin came out to you at last.”

“Well, not really,” Thrain admitted. “My lads carry enough weight on their shoulders. If one of them can find someone that eases that burden, then who am I to deny it. I gave Thorin my blessing to court your lad. Should I not have?”

“Don’t be absurd,” she said. “I want Bilbo to have his happiness as much as any other parent would wish for their child. If you think the lads can really make each other happy, then I’m willing to let them.”

Thrain nodded contentedly and blew a smoke ring.

“Tell me, Madam Baggins, you’re a minstrel of sort, aren’t you?”

“Minstrel? No. Hardly a bard. I’ve some talent with song writing, true. But I’ve not dared to write since I was a girl.”

“Pity. Your songs are still loved.”

“I’ve only one song that I believe is still widely sung,” she corrected. “It’s been years since I sang it myself. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to do it the same justice as when I was young.”

_And a foolish girl._

Thrain shrugged and released a breath of smoke.

Belladonna wrinkled her nose.

“Forgive me if I am overstepping, but might I ask what happened to your husband?” Thrain asked.

Belladonna swallowed, wondering if it would be remiss to tell him to fuck off. A part of her wanted to, but she also wanted to talk to someone about it for so long…

“Officially, he died from from an illness of the lungs,” she said. “I, myself, am convinced that it was because of his love for Longbottom Leaf.”

She wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders, as if they could mimic Bungo’s embrace. They couldn’t.

“It’s only been three years since he passed,” she said. “Yet I’m…”

_Fading._

She was trying not to, for Bilbo’s sake, but she knew she was.

“It never gets easier,” Thrain said. “I lost my wife in childbirth sixty-six years ago.”

Belladonna stared at Thrain.

“I heard that Dwarves live longer lives, aging slower than Men and Hobbits, but that would mean that Thorin will still be a young man when Bilbo is my age.”

Thrain nodded. “It would. I do worry about that, to be honest, but I think the lads have managed to find a way to make it work. Otherwise they wouldn’t be so close.”

Belladonna glanced at them. She smiled gently at the sight of Bilbo resting his head on Thorin’s shoulder. He wasn’t shivering as violently as he had been before they took shelter.

Thorin’s arm had curled around his waist.

“I do hope they know what they’re getting into, then,” she said. “Having a lover that has a shorter lifespan than yourself isn’t going to be an easy thing for Thorin to endure…”

Which is what she had hoped to avoid herself when she started gaining Elven suitors.

At first, the idea of having an Elf as a lover sounded like a fairy tale come true. Then she had realized that that would mean they’d watch her age and die before their eyes, with centuries more still for them to see.

And she had concluded that it was cruel to give them hope for more than friendship.

Whether Bilbo would come to the same conclusion before the end of the quest would remain to be seen. She wanted what was best for him and knew he was old enough to decide for himself…

“I think I will go to sleep, Thrain,” she said, standing back up. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Madam,” he said, with a dip of his head.

#

He couldn’t sleep.

Thorin watched Bilbo rest in the dying fire light. He was almost afraid that if he dared blink, the time would vanish. He knew it was silly to believe so.

Yet…

Bilbo nuzzled closer to him, sighing contently.

Thorin ran his fingers through Bilbo’s all-too-short hair. He knew it would be a while yet till it grew to a proper length and by then, he’ll have some more of his courting gifts prepared for him.

He’d be beautiful with gold and silver jewelry. Bracelets and rings set with emeralds and sapphires. Perhaps a necklace. Maybe earrings if Bilbo was open to them.

He hadn’t any piercings, but Thorin could see it. Even if it were just one ear. Until then, he might be open to wearing an ear cuff made of gold and emerald.

Thorin could see him in clothes made from the finest fur and silk.

And yet he’d probably not wear them when he decided to go into a little garden of his own built on the side of the mountain, working in the earth and easing his plants to maturity.

Bilbo probably needed things that grow.

A garden would be perfect.

With a greenhouse for the sprouts and seedlings and plants that would not do well on a mountain’s harsher climate.

Things that grew were everywhere in the Shire…

And yet, he feared to close his eyes and dream of this future because Thorin knew that while all this could be possible, far surer was the finality of death.

He feared to close his eyes because when he did, he dreamt of the last years of Bilbo’s life.

 His hair gone grey and white.

His mind deteriorating.

His body frail.

And Thorin would still be young, whole of mind and body.

Strong.

“Thorin?” Bilbo mumbled.

“Did I wake you?”

“Not really,” Bilbo said. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing we haven’t already discussed.”

“The difference in our life spans?” Bilbo asked.

Thorin nodded.

“We can keep talking about it if you want,” Bilbo reassured him. “It bothers me, too. I’m starting to wonder if I’m being cruel in a way. Well, maybe not cruel since we _both_ _want_ to be together, but…maybe selfish. I mean, when I’m eighty, you’ll still be young, right?”

“Younger middle aged,” Thorin clarified. “I don’t know what to do.”

“There’s nothing that can be done about it.”

Bilbo sat up. He pulled his knees to his chin, locking his arms around his legs.

“Time isn’t something we can stop. We’ll just have to find a way to be satisfied with what we have. I don’t know how we’re going to do that…”

Thorin felt a rumbling.

He grabbed Bilbo’s arm as he sought out the source.

The weapons they found from the Troll Cave began to take on a light blue glow.

“WAKE UP!!” Thorin bellowed.

The floor opened beneath them and they fell.

~Erebor~

Her father went hunting at least once a month.

Not for himself. For her.

She did not hibernate, nor could she go months without sustenance.

If she was going to leave the mountain, that would be the best time to go. He’d be gone for three days. No more, no less.

He’d leave when the moon was black, so not to be seen by the Men.

It was more than enough time to see the village and return.

She knew she would need coin. A small purse would do.

She also knew she’d need a weapon. Dis liked a dagger she found in the armory most. It was still sharp, but small enough for her to keep in a pocket.

Out on her veranda on the east side of the mountain, Dis watched the moon rise. It was coming out of its black phase.

Smaug had returned before dawn the previous day with three slain oxen which she spent the day gutting and stripping.

The carcasses were drying in in the hall where she did her cooking.

Afterward she had taken care of her food, she bathed and redressed herself. She swung one leg over the ledge as she sketched the terrain before her on some blank paper she found in the library and burnt wood.

A snort blew against her back.

“Come inside,” Smaug said. “Before you catch your death.”

“Hardly going to die from being outside. The night is nice,” she said. Still, she obeyed, shutting the door behind her. “Father, I know my blood family did not care for me, but I’m still curious of them.”

Smaug slipped back into the treasure room, sliding under the mountains of gold.

“You needn’t worry about them.”

“I’m not worried. I’m curious. All I know is that they hated me because I was female. Is that really so bad.” She sat on the old throne overlooking the treasury. “I just…I don’t know.”

Smaug peered at her from under his golden blanket. Coins clinked and jingled as he shifted.

“Your grandfather was King Under the Mountain before I came. He had driven his people to poverty with his greed.”

“Is that bad?”

“To some,” Smaug said. “For a dragon, avarice is common. We are fierce and jealous. Dwarves are also fierce and jealous, in their own way. Your grandfather was not a good Dwarf. He would have let his people starve. He’d have let his family suffer. I would never do that to you, my precious.”

“And my father.”

“Would have been just like him. As woud your brothers.”

“What are brothers?” Dis asked.

She had not heard that word before. She had heard father and grandfather. Mother and grandmother. But brothers?

Smaug curled his tail around him. “Male children born to the same parents. Females are called sisters.”

“So, I have brothers. They would call me sister?”

“If they cared.”

“I see. They were all cruel and greedy.”

“Exactly.”

“What would they have done to me if you didn’t come?”

“Marry you off to some other Dwarf lord or king, likely. That’s all females are considered to Men and Dwarves and Elves. Bargaining chips. Meant to strengthen alliances and be broodmares after that. No, my daughter. You are a Princess of Durin’s Folk. No matter how little they valued you, you are not meant to be a bargaining chip or a broodmare. You, my precious, are destined for so much more than that. You are my princess. And here you will rule.”

Dis hummed, letting that sink in.

Something wasn’t making sense.

She didn’t know what, but she guessed she would.

Someday soon.


	10. Chapter 10

~Under the Misty Mountains~

He remembered falling.

He remembered…

Goblins.

Yes. They were caught by Goblins.

Bilbo had evaded them, kneeling and keeping silent as they herded the others away, including his mother. He had meant to go after them and try to rescue them. His attempt was quickly thwarted by another goblin attacking him before he could do anything.

They both fell off the bridge.

He hit his head, and all went black. That was…how long ago? Was it days? Hours? Minutes? Bilbo didn’t know.

He found his sword, seeing it still glowed. Goblins were still near. He kept low, hidden in the mushrooms that, he guessed, broke his fall.

“Yes…”

The voice sent chills down his spine. Bilbo held his breath as the creature approached, crawling over…over the goblin that had attacked him earlier.

 _Hours, then_ , he thought, _at longest…_

The creature was abnormally thin. He was near bald, save for a few wispy hairs still attached to the skull. It was naked, save for a cloth around its hips, allowing some decency but Bilbo felt the creature likely didn’t care much for that.

At least, he didn’t think it did.

It dragged the goblin away and the goblin woke, screeching. The creature screamed and seized a rock, banging it into the goblin’s head repeatedly. It fell unconscious again, allowing the creature to drag it away. Perhaps it was dead.

The creature began to sing, banging the same rock against the goblin repeatedly. Bilbo tried not to listen. His stomach roiled and he shook in fear. He swallowed, trying to keep from passing out. He didn’t want to end up like the goblin if he could help it.

 _I have to get out of here_ , he concluded. Bilbo forced himself to stand and he caught a glint of yellow. He looked down and picked up the item. _A ring?_ He turned it around his fingers.

The light of his sword died. He could still hear the creature. Whatever it was, it wasn’t a goblin. Likely wasn’t an orc either.

But if it wasn’t either goblin or orc, then what is it?

Bilbo pocketed the ring and groped around the rock, trying to keep his footing.

“Bless us and splash us, Precious.”

Bilbo snapped his head up to see the creature’s pinprick stare.

“That is a meaty mouthful.”

He raised his sword, feeling the point press into the flesh of the creature. It paused.

“It has an Elf blade,” it croaked. “But its not an elf. No, not an elf, Precious. What is it?”

Bilbo swallowed. “I’m Bilbo Baggins.”

The creature tilted its head. “Baggins? What is Baggins?”

“A…a hobbit of the Shire.”

“Oh!” The creature cackled. “We’ve had batses and fishes and goblinses. But we’ve never had hobbitses before. Is it juicy? Is it crunchy?”

Bilbo held his blade as steady as he could, never letting the creature get close to him. “I’m not for eating,” he declared with more confidence than he felt. A good thing, too. Even then, the creature would try to eat him anyway, he guessed. “So, show me the way out.”

The creature cackled again. “Everything is for eating. Except rockses. Rockses crack teeths. See?” It bore its jagged teeth at Bilbo, who repressed another shiver.

“A…how about…a game, then?” he proposed. “A game of riddles. If I win, you show me the way out.”

“And if we win,” the creature hissed. “We eat its whole.”

Bilbo exhaled. He was one of the more brilliant of his race, after all. He was half Took and half Baggins. Both were fairly intelligent when it suited them. They weren’t Bracegirdles or Proudfoots. And Bilbo, well, he always thought himself to be cleverer than most Hobbits.

He half thought the creature would break the games’ rules anyway. Well, in such a case, so would he.

“All right. You’ve a deal. Three questions each.”

The creature grinned again. “You ask first question, Hobbits.”

#

Belladonna found herself sandwiched between Gróin and Fundin as they were led to the center of the underground city. They were pushed forward, and any resistance was met with the crack of a whip. Dwalin was unlucky enough to get a lash to his face, almost blinding him.

“Who dares come into my kingdom?” A giant goblin said, eying them all with a nasty smile. “Spies? Theives? Assassins?”

“Dwarves, your malevolence,” one of the goblins that had caught them said. “We found them on the front porch.”

“Search them.”

They were seized, their belongings tossed into a great pile. One seized Belladonna, pulling her forward. “They’ve a female with them!”

The great Goblin seemed interested in this.

“Never knew Dwarves had females.”

Belladonna thought about correcting them, but decided if they didn’t know about Dwarrowdams, then they likely never heard of Hobbits either. She’d like to keep it that way.

“So, my dear, tell us what you and your lads are doing in my mountain?”

Belladonna clenched her teeth shut. She wasn’t about to speak.

“Are you mute, Wench?”

Still, she dared not respond.

“Very well. If they will not talk, we’ll make them squawk! Starting with _her_.”

“Wait!” Thorin stepped forward, pushing Belladonna back to the group. The goblins laughed.

“Well, well, well,” The great Goblin chuckled. “Thorin son if Thrain son of Thror. Still a prince? Or have you become King Under the Mountain yet? Oh! But I’m forgetting you don’t _have_ a mountain –”

“Enough!” Thrain bellowed. “Thorin get back here.”

“And _there_ is the King himself!” The goblin laughed as Thrain stepped between him and Thorin. “Much more magnificent a sight than your brat. He’s barely got a beard yet. Still a boy, really.”

“Are you going to just spout insults or are we going to make a deal? What do you want?”

The goblin hummed. “A few heads will do, I think. The woman’s included.” Belladonna felt chills creep down her spine. She didn’t think Thrain would ever agree to that. He was too noble. “Especially your brat’s. There’s a fine price on his head.”

Belladonna seized Thorin’s arm to keep him from demanding an answer. He turned to her, glaring, but she shook her head.

“You might recall a pale orc astride a white warg,” the goblin chortled.

“That’s impossible!” Frerin bellowed.

“Azog the Defiler is dead,” Thorin added. “I slew him in battle long ago!”

The goblin smirked at them. “One can live without an arm, you know. A head…less so.” He turned to a goblin. “Send word to the Pale Orc. Tell him I’ve found his prize. As for the rest of you…we’re going to have some fun.”

#

This would be their last question. Bilbo had thought of all the riddles he could. Each one, the creature managed to figure out the answer. How was he going to come up with a last question clever enough to trick the creature?

He stuffed his hand in his pocket, looking for something to distract him…help him think…

His finger brushed against cool metal and he had it.

It wasn’t a riddle.

Not really.

“What do I have in my pocket?” he asked.

The creature stared at him, confused at first.

“That’s against the rules!” it complained, tossing a rock aside. Bilbo almost scoffed, pointing out that the creature was as much a cheat as he was. “Ask another one.”

“You told me to ask you a question. That’s my question,” he said. “What do I have in my pocket?”

The creature growled. “Three guesses.”

“All right. Go on.”

“String.”

“Nope.”

The creature tore at its hair and stamped its feet. “You’ve nothing in your pocketses!”

“I do have something in my pocket.”

“Handses!”

“Wrong again.”

“Rockses!”

“That’s a fourth guess,” Bilbo snapped. “We agreed on three. You lost. Now show me the way out.”

The creature snarled at him. “Lost, is it? Lost?” it reached into a drawstring pouch attached to its cloth and froze. The creature shrieked, jumping about, splashing the water, screaming.

“My precious! My precious is lost!”

“What did you lose?” Bilbo asked.

“Mustn’t ask us!” the creature wailed. “Not its business! Lost! Lost! My precious! My precious!” the creature fell silent, weeping. Bilbo backed away, blade held ready in case the creature attacked.

“What does it have in its nasty little pocketses?” the creature growled low and slow. Bilbo swallowed. The creature turned on him. “You stole it!” it shrieked. “Give it back to us! It’s ours! Ours!”

It threw a rock at Bilbo and he dodged it, ducking behind one of the rocks. He felt the ring slip onto his finger and the creature raced by him, screaming.

Bilbo blinked.

The creature looked around blindly, as if he didn’t see Bilbo anymore. Not even his silhouette. It raced away and Bilbo followed. He decided it would be best to keep quiet.

He wouldn’t want the creature to realize where he was again.

He glanced at his hand where the ring rested and arched a brow. _Precious, huh?_

He wondered what it was about the ring that was so…

Precious.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOT A NEW JOB AT LAST!!! That's why I'm going a little slower than before. But I have a new chapter for you guys now.

There wasn’t much they could do. Not with their weapons taken from them. Even with them, they were vastly outnumbered. Thrain had his hands tightly gripped around Thorin and Frerin, trying to keep the goblins from killing them.

Fruitless, perhaps.

Yet he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t accept that he might lose more of his children.

He never could.

Not since the dragon.

A goblin screamed, tossing aside the blade that Thrain had given to Thorin from the troll cave. The Goblins backed away, screaming and screeching.

“I know that sword!” The goblin king cried, fear in his voice. “The Goblin Cleaver! Kill them all! Cut off his head!”

Thorin broke free of Thrain’s grasp and seized the blade, swinging it in a wide arc. The goblins backed away, afraid and snarling. A bright burst of light knocked them off their feet. They were blinded and stunned.

“Take up arms,” the familiar timbre of Gandalf’s voice commanded.

With the wizard finally catching up to them – whose delay Thrain vowed to deal with when they were not at risk of losing their lives – the Dwarves seemed to regain their own will to survive.

#

Deep below Goblin Town, Bilbo followed the creature.

He had deduced that the creature’s inability to see him had something to do with the ring he had found. If so, and if it had indeed belonged to the creature once, such a trinket was certainly valuable.

Even precious.

How long had he followed it?

Bilbo wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t about to remove the ring as long as he knew it was his only protection between him and the flesh eater.

The creature was climbing up. It didn’t look it, but Bilbo’s legs pushed and complained at the gradual incline.

The creature backed behind a boulder and Bilbo spied the others rushing by. He almost called to them but caught himself. If he made any sound, the creature would locate him.

But then, how to get around the creature and catch up with them?

Bilbo pulled the elven blade he had been gifted nearly a month ago free and crept closer to the creature. He raised it.

 _Do it,_ a voice echoed in the back of his mind. _He’d kill you with just as much ease._

The creature looked sad, though.

_The trick is knowing not when to take a life, but when to spare one._

Bilbo swallowed.

_It wanted to eat you. It’d have bludgeoned you to death and eaten you while you were still unconscious._

_But there are those who have died that deserved to live_ , he thought, as though arguing with another version of himself. It was odd. Strange.

Bilbo sheathed the blade and found a way to sneak around the creature, racing by it once on the path leading out of the mountain.

His lungs burned in his haste to catch up. Once he caught up to them, he slowed, trying to catch his breath.

“I am not going anywhere!” Belladonna shrieked at Thrain. “Until I know what has become of my child!”

“Madam, there’s nothing we can do. He wasn’t with us and time is against us.”

Bilbo glanced up at Thrain. The king seemed bereft, as though the idea of leaving him behind was more unfavorable to him than he allowed his voice to reveal. Bilbo turned from Thrain to Thorin, who was pacing. Perhaps working through what course of action to take himself. Belladonna had fallen silent, swaying where she stood.

Bilbo took the ring off. “I’m all right,” he said, sliding the ring into his pocket. “I fell, and I’ll explain what happened after, but I’m all right.”

He caught his mother before she collapsed completely. She wept, clutching at him. Bilbo knew it was the fading, but it still bothered him to witness his usually uncowed mother fall apart for the second time in as many months.

He glanced at Thorin, torn between wanting to go to him and knowing he couldn’t abandon Belladonna at this time.

“We can’t stay here,” Thrain said. “The goblins will attack as soon as its dark.”

“More than goblins,” Dwalin snarled. “I don’t like the idea of Thorin being hunted.”

“That Goblin was deluded,” Thorin argued. “Azog the Defiler is dead.”

“Who?” Bilbo asked.

“Later,” Thrain said, holding a hand up to silence Frerin who looked ready to clarify. “You can say all you want to when time is not against us. We move on.”

~Erebor~

Dis knew it was fear holding her back at this point.

Fear of the disappointment and fury her father would have if she left the mountain.

Yes.

It had to be fear.

What else could it be?

She stepped out of the mountain, taking hesitant steps. The air was dry, but she breathed deeply as something filled inside her. She felt as light as air.

A feeling of…

It was like joy, but not the sort of joy she was used to knowing.

Dis grinned and danced, spinning in circles under the bright sun. Smaug was still asleep for now. She didn’t mean to venture far for now. Not yet. She’d get there. She’d get closer to seeing the village.

For now, though, this was all she could allow herself.

She almost dreaded going back into the mountain, but after a few minutes of bliss, she ran back inside and fixed the hole she had found with a wood and metal plank.

The elation stayed with her even as she made herself something to eat, still giggling to herself as if she had committed some scandal only for her to enjoy.

After she ate, she went exploring in the higher levels of the mountain, pausing at a tapestry moth eaten and faded.

She spied the gold threading, worn though it was, and approached it, wiping the worst of it away.

At the bottom of the tapestry were a trio of faces.

She couldn’t read the words, but they filled her with some sort of…longing. Familiarity.

 _Brothers_.

Were these two images her brothers? The Dwarves of her family that didn’t want her because she was female?

Dis sat down, staring at the portraits, trying to remember something.

Anything.

“Thor,” she whispered. It didn’t seem complete, though. Not quite right. But for the life of her, no matter how hard she pressed herself to remember…

No.

Her brothers were long gone. Perhaps dead by now. They were part of her past. She wasn’t going ever meet them. And, she supposed, that was for the best.

~Beorn’s House~

Bilbo straddled Thorin’s waist, kissing him.

“So,” he said between kisses. “This Azog fellow.”

“Long dead.”

“I’m sure he is,” Bilbo said. “So, you can tell me all about him.”

“He was an enemy if you’re jealous.”

“Me? Jealous? Of what sounds like an Orc?”

Thorin laughed lightly. “That is remarkably astute. He was an Orc. Fiercest of his kind. A giant of an Orc, too. Taller than an Elf, I’d say. Anyway, he killed my grandfather, tried to kill Frerin. I cut off his arm and he slunk away like the coward he was so to die.”

Bilbo hummed. “So…you cut off his arm. Not his head.”

“You can die from getting your arm hacked off,” Thorin said. “I hear your judgement and I can’t say I appreciate it, _Ghivashel_.”

“I’m not saying anything. Just…Orcs can and do have offspring. How sure are you that this Azog fellow didn’t have any offspring? Sounds like he’d have been quite a catch among his people.”

Thorin scowled. “Ew.”

“I know, not a pleasant thought.”

“Yeah, I suppose it’s possible. Making it possible that his progeny would want to avenge him. I love you, Bilbo, but I also hate you. You’re an absolute tomnoddy.”

“Oi!” Bilbo slapped Thorin’s chest, scowling. “That’s rude. Accurate, but still rude.”

“Like for like,” Thorin replied, grinning brighter. “Besides, I’m not worried. If orcs are after me and my father and brother, then let them come. I’ll cut them down as easily as I did Azog.”

“That sure of yourself, are you?” Bilbo asked, arching a brow.

“Yeah, I am,” Thorin said. “I survived this long. My father may like to say he doesn’t know how, but that’s not the point.”

“Sure, it’s not.”

“Again: tomnoddy.”

Bilbo smirked back. “Like for like,” he mimicked, pecking the tip of Thorin’s nose.

Three raps to the door reminded them that time was of the essence. They wouldn’t be able to stay in bed much longer. With a sigh, Bilbo climbed off Thorin and pulled on his trousers.

Thorin wrapped his arms around Bilbo. “If only we could stay here,” he whispered. “Beorn’s not too bad.”

“Sure,” Bilbo scoffed. “He’s not calling you a bunny.”

“It’s cute. I might start calling you a bunny.”

“I will kick you. Just see if I don’t.”

“Fine, I won’t call you a bunny. I mean, you wouldn’t hurt me, but I’m sure you’d break a toe.”

“Congratulations. You have graduated from tomnoddy to asshole.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Speeding through the Misty Mountains as fast as possible. Might seem a bit...too rushed. Don't know.


	12. ON HIATUS

Hey guys!

First of all, thanks to everyone who's been reading. I hope you'll stay with me for a while longer.

I got a new job and while I am trying to get a page in a day, that's not been the case for all the stories I'm working on. So I decided to go back to a one at a time method. For the foreseeable future, I'll be working on my Drarry story, Gold and Silver Cracks. 

I'm not abandoning any of my current works in progress. When I get back to this one, I'll delete this message and upload the next chapter. 

Thank you, everyone, for being such great readers and for being so patient with me.

With much love,

Silver.


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